Nineteen (On Hold)
by soul.assassin.547
Summary: Sachiko is at the cusp of womanhood, in peace and studying in college, when tragedy leaves her as the sole heir to the business empire. However she's unaware that an old adversary is about to strike violently and take over, saving her for last.
1. Fire in the Sky

_**Notes and Disclaimers:**_Maria-sama ga Miteru_ is the creation of Konno Oyuki, and the property of the author, Shueisha and Geneon Entertainment. No copyright infringement is intended. Indeed, we are sure that, as fan enthusiasm and love for these characters has ensured the longevity of this series, no offense will be taken. All other products or properties mentioned belong to their respective entities.  
_

Maria-sama ga Miteru_ and the fanfiction derivative _Nineteen_, are both works of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental._

_

* * *

"But friendship is precious, not only in the shade, but in the sunshine of life;  
and thanks to a benevolent arrangement of things, the greater part of life is sunshine."_

- Thomas Jefferson

This in dedication to my late parents.

**

* * *

Prologue – Death and the Maiden**

My name is Sachiko Ogasawara, and today's supposed to be my twentieth birthday; I'm expected to celebrate but it's not the right time to do, for the dire circumstances prevent me from doing so.

My wristwatch tells me it's past midnight, as I stand before a stranger I had never met before. He's wearing a three-piece suit, and so are some of the men surrounding us; the rest were wearing jackets and jeans. Yet they, mostly foreigners, are armed with guns hanging from their shoulders, they were grim-faced as they watch us with alert eyes.

Where I am right now? Right on the top floor of a building built with my parents' money, in this office that once belonged to my father, and now presided by this stranger, who was also holding a gun in his right hand. He didn't really look Japanese; rather he came from somewhere else. Was he Chinese? Korean? Or where?

We haven't even spoken to each other; no introduction from him since I arrived unarmed after one of his foreign guards frisked me (and I felt as if I was being violated on contact, even as I furiously kept my composure intact, fighting not to react).

The stranger was looking into my eyes, trying to gauge how I'm feeling right now, and his ice-cold eyes were unblinking, like that of a venomous snake. Maybe he was guessing whether I'm weak-willed or fearless, and with some dignity I'm showing him my determination and anger, even in the face of impending death. I want him not to take me lightly; I'll fight in any way I could.

In fact, I have a foreboding that in the next few minutes would be the last moments of my life, for this stranger would decide my fate, and of the hostages he'd taken.

Death. It means a great deal for many people; some consider it the last sorrowful chapter onto the final gasp, others the great beyond that no one could imagine what was like on the other side. Some mourn, others celebrate it; some call it a welcome rest after a lifetime of labor fulfilled, and some fear it as if its unexpected presence would rob them of their worldly possessions.

Days before I was told that death was no different from walking in the snow barefooted; if I could no longer feel the cold, then that should be the same feeling if I ever face death. I was afraid then, running for my life, but not today. Everything is hinged upon what I'm about to do.

After much I went through days of being chased, of literally dodging bullets, and surviving this far, I'm now making the ultimate sacrifice, by offering myself to fate. My death, should it comes, would be little concern for me, as long as the ones I love should also be the ones to live on.

A day earlier I've made my last will and testament to someone I trusted for a long time, and should I die on this very spot, it might as well be the last-ditch resort I'll use to deny this stranger his wish for a ransom.

Because this stranger—a madman, really—wants to seize my rightful inheritance by force, and at gunpoint.

* * *

MARIA-SAMA GA MITERU: **NINETEEN  
Chapter 1: Fire in the Sky / Black Monday****  
**Written by soulassassin547  
Rev. Date: 9/23/2010 8:11 a9/p9

**

* * *

Fire in the Sky**

Even at this early hour, Narita International Airport never rests, serving as a major transportation hub for much of the world, a vital link between the East and the West. Planes were at their bays, waiting until passengers filled them before leaving. Among these planes was Nippon East Airways Flight 3209, bound for Chicago, in the United States.

The NEA R890 plane was brand new in its signature blue-hued stripes, the most advanced and the largest in the world, only two months after it came out of the assembly plant in Toulouse, France. In its typical configuration the plane was a monster double-decker with massive Rolls-Royce jet engines, advanced avionics and fail-safe systems, capable of seating nearly 600 passengers, and had enough range to reach London without refueling.

The ground crew was busily transferring cargo and baggage containers into the fuselage, while fuel and catering trucks helped topping up the plane of provisions and aviation gas for its journey. Everything seemed normal, except if one began to closely scrutinize the crew itself.

For one thing, eight of them were a ring of North Korean spies who secretly decided to embark on a very lucrative, part-time job that has their expertise paid for by anyone who can afford their fees.

Their infiltration into the airport wasn't done on immediate notice, however, as they started work two years ago and in separate times, to prevent suspicion. Circumventing airport security screening during employment was further helped by hackers and forgers in North Korean intelligence creating their false identities on computer and paper.

The spies were true experts in their field and well-trained, and as they worked on the transfers, their team leader checked one of the three containers, peering to see if the carefully concealed binary-liquid bombs were in place. One was positioned near the tail, the other two near the nose.

With deliberate care he set the timers and the altimeters, then flicking on the main switch, thus arming nearly 50 liters of an advanced, undetectable form of liquid explosive developed in a military lab outside Pyongyang. Once the plane reached its cruising altitude of around 8 kilometers, the timers will begin to tick away until after two hours. He calculated that somewhere in the flight path the detonation would occur over the Sakhalin Islands, and the Russians would be blamed for it once more.

Seeing that the LEDs on the detonators were green-lit, he raised his arm and gave the loading crew a thumbs-up, before the last batch of containers were rolled into the R890. The bales of death and destruction were ready.

Once the trucks backed out of the plane, and his crew shut the hatches tight, he decided that once they had their biggest fee to date - roughly sixteen million US dollars - they can put the mint in Zurich and let it grow, go anywhere and do everything they wished. More than what Dear Leader could provide them back home.

But only if Phase Two was accomplished after this job, and they can collectively flip the bird at Dear Leader for giving them small potatoes.

* * *

By the crack of dawn, the rogue agents' crew van left the heavily-guarded service access gate of the airport, after the typical perfunctory vehicle inspection and the presentation of identification, which they were glad for having no red flags. As they sped away on the expressway towards the direction of Tokyo, the leader wondered whether their prey had left and before he knew it, the huge R890 jetliner roared over their heads, engines screaming full power at takeoff, making its way toward a final destination it would never make.

Once the plane's engines faded out beyond distance, the turncoat spies peeled off and crumpled their facial disguises. As all was accomplished properly, it was time to leave no trace.

* * *

They were seated comfortably on the Premium Business Class section – upper fore deck – of the NEA airliner, which meant they had as much luxury and convenience as the _Queen Mary 2_ ocean liner or a private Gulfstream executive jet or the American President's _Air Force One_. At the moment their plane was leaving the last tip of Hokkaido, soft music could be heard in the background, and a lone businessman opposite them ate his breakfast quietly before taking a sip of his champagne.

Harumi Ogasawara, the absolute leader of a 152-year-old retailing and leisure establishment empire, peered out of one of the windows as the morning light streamed into the fuselage. The reassuring glow comforted him, even as this business trip was normally he intended to do alone with his son, but this was different because they - he, Tohru and Sayako - are to enjoy themselves by making the most of time lost to work, and they intended to combine business with pleasure. He watched his son talk to his wife before turning his thoughts to the upcoming merger.

He had committed the planner to memory, knowing that he has finally found an American retailer to join forces with: access to all markets and common goals. The time has come that in this age of globalization, strength in alliances was valued, and that he intended the Ogasawara Group to be a global brand: he wanted access to the Western market and, vice-versa, the Japanese market for the American retailer.

Oh, he knew the Western retailers have made their presence in Japan, notably a French supermarket chain with upscale pricing, but they were also the competition. This alliance he was seeking with the Americans was intended a signal that he was committed to change, yet he insisted that the brand be retained as long as Japanese had a majority on the board.

He had also memorized the speech - in straight English - he would make before the stockholders in Chicago, expounding the value of partnerships in a business world challenged to go beyond borders, in the face of burgeoning new markets, aggressive competition and the recent economic crisis resulting to national deflation.

The last problem severely hit their profit margins, and old Harumi was reluctant to lay off thousands of young workers. Gone were the Showa days, when everyone was assured of a stable job for life and committed to the survival of the company. The current bulk of employees in the Ogasawara Group's network of department stores, supermarkets, resorts and mid-sized amusement parks across Japan were mostly composed of high school and college graduates. The words "casual worker" seemed to him tasted bitter on his tongue, as he watched television news footage of homeless, jobless people in tents.

He wanted to change all that, just like what that American president and the new Prime Minister always said. Go for long-term benefits, cut costs, slim down executive pay, buy quality products, and he didn't just want to give every employee a simple paycheck. Job security was more pressing than ever, so in recent months he was hungry for any ideas, willing to make some personal sacrifices, and even made an impassioned speech before the entire workforce about corporate survival with total cooperation.

The old king sighed. _Now with the good news, _he thought.

The good news for this year was the increased influx of tourist arrivals to add up with domestic visits, which was good for the leisure spots they had. Profits were up by 32%, a surprisingly good figure despite the economic crisis and ongoing problems with the world's airlines, notably Japan Airlines, are recent filing for bankruptcy protection. To add more profit and lure the moneyed otaku crowd, he also toyed with the idea of having anime studios tie up with his amusement parks with themed attractions based on their shows.

Harumi ran his fingers over his gray hair. He thought of the Last Will and Testament he drawn out months before, readjusted every year by his lawyer - Keiichi Mizuno, head of the law firm Mizuno, Hayashi and Associates - for anything he could anticipate in the future, and the most recent - and permanent - adjustment involved putting his granddaughter Sachiko on paper, now that Suguru Kashiwagi no longer wanted any part and thus formally broke off the engagement.

_"All to my granddaughter," he firmly told Keiichi. "She'll become a fine leader someday, and I have seen it in her eyes... for the time has come to me to change what I am."_

Sure, Harumi was still hale and healthy even at 76, capable of putting up a day's work where his contemporaries drop out because they had too much of vices and disease, but at this point anything could happen to him.

Harumi sighed, before he picked up that freshly brewed cup of tea sitting on one of the holders. He sipped it slowly, and then contemplated about his granddaughter... if in case should he depart this world.

Sachiko, to begin with, was in herself a force of nature. From the beginning she was ebullient and, true to her name, happy enough to bring sunshine into the otherwise repressive atmosphere of their mansion. But at six she seemed to have changed, ever since Harumi and his son Tohru began keeping each a mistress of their own and away from home, with a mildly stern expression on her face that he mistook for her need to be formal as their place in Japanese society had dictated. However, at the same time the problem of corporate succession was answered when she absentmindedly wrote down on paper in her kindergarten class what she wanted to do someday: to marry her cousin Suguru Kashiwagi. However, Harumi had little idea that childhood promises could fail unexpectedly.

Harumi was so hopeful in that false destiny until Sachiko reached fifteen, and for some reason he never knew, that girl and Kashiwagi didn't came along well after that high school entrance party. He watched with quiet concern as she soon assumed an expression of quietly bottled anger behind her alabaster face. He tried to appease her with gifts, but to no avail as she attempted to distance herself from him and her father, losing herself into the lessons of her tutors. She knew that they were doing wrong, but never able to say it straight.

What a grandfather must do? He couldn't solve it and all his life was heavily devoted to the intricacies of commerce, not family, a modern King Midas cursed of touching everything - even his granddaughter - into gold.

Then an answer to the complex puzzle that was his granddaughter's inner turmoil came out of the blue two years later: from a chance meeting on a Monday morning, Sachiko selected an unlikely younger sister who miraculously turned the situation around and changed her completely. Later on, he heard great stories from almost everyone about their successful partnership as _senpai-kouhai_, and before Sachiko's graduation he met Yumi Fukuzawa for the first time... and he really liked her. A dutiful granddaughter he would have wanted, and by his word she was welcome.

* * *

Meters below where Harumi was seated, hidden in the bowels of the cargo hold, one of the detonators was on its final few minutes. The North Koreans who designed the binary liquid bomb prided on its ability to be almost undetectable as water, and in tests even a sniffer dog could barely tell the difference between the two liquids. The detonator was a work of art in itself, a masterpiece by an Eastern European electronics-wizard-cum-anarchist, for every circuit board he made was unique and he believed that his creations could never be traced.

By t-minus five minutes the indicator lights on each of the detonators turned from blinking red to blinking green.

* * *

"How are the new architectural plans that Fukuzawa submitted to you a week ago?" Harumi asked his son Tohru as he had his second helping of tea, while Sayako was reading a light novel. He was well interested in Yumi's father and his work in the field, which turned out to be a boon to his business concern, with designs that were surprisingly refreshing. Sometimes, he mused, _gakubatsu _(school friendships) were a good thing.

"I like his idea of restyling one of our Kobe stores, combining new with local architectural designs and a bit of a marine motif. Said it's his homage to the city's tradition," Tohru commented. The Kobe branch was situated in the traditional shopping area of the city, with good access to transportation.

"That's right. But what about the traffic flow he talked about? He's also putting that into consideration."

"He said he was also running computer simulated tests with a British firm specializing in that problem, so there shouldn't be a problem with overcrowding during rush hour. Anyway, I think it's a good idea we keep the store with its supermarket there because there's this—"

A loud bang reverated throughout the plane's fuselage, the shock coming from the tail and sudden, violent decompression caused everything in the fuselage to be sucked – air, loose paper, small bags, shoes, food carts and even passenger seats – out of the cavity that was ripped open by the liquid bomb. The decompression caused the plane to veer slowly to the left as the pilots frantically tried to right the plane while calling for a mayday. Overwhelming screams could be heard throughout, while Harumi thought he could hear the engines whining louder.

As chaos reigned inside, the shock and terror of being would-be-victims of a plane crash overtook all three of the Ogasawaras, realizing that their mortality turned out to be terribly close. Old Harumi wondered if he needed to strap in, before he closed his eyes hard and exerted the last of his full consciousness to recall everything of his life – childhood, his studies at Hanadera and then to Tokyo University, inheriting the family business, marriage, children, his only grandchild – and then the last image he summoned was Sachiko's smiling face as she held her diploma tube on her graduation day.

Then everything went black, for Harumi never heard the secondary explosion that obliterated what remained of Flight 3209.

**

* * *

Black Monday  
**

Completely unaware of the violent destruction occurring high and off the coast of Hokkaido, the last heir of the Ogasawara family fortune woke up slowly, her almost feline form stirring and parting the blankets as she opened her midnight-blue eyes to the Monday sun streaming through the big windows. The glare caused Sachiko to blink twice to adjust to the light, and then she slowly propped herself up to sit on the edge of her four-poster bed.

_Good morning, me, _she mused in her sleepy thoughts.

Sachiko was sure that her long, midnight-black hair was terribly unkempt, so she stood up and walked to her dresser. While looking into her reflection on the mirror, she combed it straight. The first order of business of her morning was to prepare herself for school, so she took off her pajamas and then underwear as she walked to the bathroom.

As the warm water sprayed upon her in a steamy cascade and she grabbed a bar of soap, Sachiko began spinning up her mind to full power, and made up a brief mental checklist as she scrubbed herself with the lather:

_Term paper for Mr. Kisaragi (Economics): check.  
Two essays for Mrs. Ikeda (Ethics) and Mrs. Ota (English Language): check.  
The math paper: all problems solved…  
Anything else I missed?  
No._

Sachiko always put on 100% of effort since day one in Lillian University's Business Administration course, just as she did back in Lillian High, but at least it was better than trying to muscle into Tokyo University and its infamous entrance exams, even if she had a pretty good chance of being admitted there.

After she toweled herself and put on deodorant and light perfume, Sachiko went to the cavernous cabinet which contained most of her wardrobe. As she pulled out fresh underwear from one of the drawers, and wore them on, she stared at the plastic-wrapped school uniforms she once used to wear. On hangers, they were a week's worth of Lillian Girl's High School, the black fabric given a drop of green, the sailor-style collar made of beige fabric, a distinctive, conservative signature that one went to one of the most elite of Japanese high schools:

_"With skirt pleats cleanly pressed, white sailor color flat, walking slow is preferred here. Obviously, no one is late or rushed; no one would be such an unladylike pupil."_

But Sachiko willed herself not to linger too long to reminiscence, so she quickly picked out her most preferred wardrobe of the season: as it was still cold out there, she'll have a good sweater over a shirt, a pair of jeans and boots; she was getting used to the famous mix-and-match street style from out of Shibuya.

Pleased with her appearance, before Sachiko went downstairs to the dining room she glanced at the two pictures that she taped to the mirror: Tsutako Takeshima's now-famous snapshot of her and Yumi, as she fixed that tie right before the ever-watchful image of the Virgin Mary; and her graduation photo with Yumi and Touko, while holding that diploma tube.

_Don't worry, Yumi, I'll be there as usual, _she thought with a smile.

* * *

At the dining room, which was very large and ornate by Japanese standards, Sachiko's breakfast was a sunny-side egg, two pieces of bacon and toasted bread with marmalade, with a side of a cup of Earl Grey. As she ate her breakfast, the mustachioed butler – Sean Liston – told of her parents' departure.

"Miss, they've left around four-thirty," the butler said in Queen's English. "By the way, they have also left a message for you."

Sachiko now noticed that beside the plate, there was a folded piece of paper with her name on, written down in her father's penmanship. She unfolded and read the message:

_Sachiko, take care of yourself. Be good on your studies. Love, Father and Mother and Grandfather._

"Thank you," she answered. "I'll try to phone them once they make it to Chicago."

* * *

Although she still had a Maserati Quattroporte sports sedan and thus the license to drive it, Sachiko still used the local Musashino bus, which at the moment was packed mostly with Lillian students on their way to school. She liked it this way so that she could overhear the conversation floating around her and soak in the energy of anticipation. However, as a concession to paying homage to her previous life at Lillian High, she preferred to get off the bus at its familiar gate and make a small prayer before the Virgin.

Once off the bus, Sachiko walked down the familiar path lined with gingko trees, and with each step upon the brick pavement there were always memories she relished to remember. But this morning she was pleased to find both of her former charges waiting before the Virgin's grotto, decked in that very familiar sailor uniform. To be sure, Sachiko took notice of their ties on their collars: well-done and not crooked.

Though she no longer wore the colorful pigtails that once characterized her appearance and with her hair now loose and long, Yumi Fukuzawa was still as ebullient as ever, but what sets her apart from any other Lillian student is the title _Rosa Chinensis_. Flowery it may seem, Yumi held considerable power within Lillian High, and as such her responsibilities were wide-ranging, such as organizing school events, implementation of rules and regulations, the management of all the clubs, and so on.

Yumi's _imouto_, or younger sister, Touko Matsudaira, also had none of the curly pigtails that Sei Satou (the former _Rosa Gigantea_) once gave her the secret nickname of "Drill". As a successor – with the formal title of _Rosa Chinensis en Bouton_ – her role in the Yamayurikai was to assist Yumi in duties required of the council, and to act as second-in-command in case Yumi has to call in sick. Everyone in school thought Touko was an admixture of Yumi and Sachiko's personalities: warm and with an open friendliness, yet when studying, she was real serious and known for being a stickler for rules.

All in all, losing the pigtails made Yumi and Touko more attractive than childlike.

As tradition called for it, the Rosa Chinensis of the past, present and future greeted each other "Gokigenyou" as they bowed, before they slowly faced the Virgin and clasped their hands in silent prayer.

"How's the weekend?" Sachiko asked afterwards, as they were walking to their respective classes.

Yumi shrugged. "Not much, except maybe for calculus." Though she was in the Yamayurikai, Yumi remained an average student, especially with some difficulty grasping math and language.

"Which is why I helped her out yesterday," Touko added. Even if she was second year, Touko insisted on studying high-school subjects a year above her, especially in brain-critical subjects that required much thinking. That way, Touko reasoned, she doesn't need any cram school, and she used this added knowledge to tutor Yumi.

"Oh, good," Sachiko answered.

But Sachiko left out a more critical question: a possible successor for Touko. But unlike her predecessors in the Yamayurikai, Sachiko didn't want to pressure a younger sister to find a suitable _imouto_. The last time that happened, Yoko Mizuno placed her into a precarious position after she refused to take part in a school play with Suguru Kashiwagi involved, which forced her to find a temporary "soeur" in an attempt to escape, and instead found Yumi.

Anyway, she'd rather let Touko decide for herself on that matter. Time to switch to another subject, something she'd like to see how Yumi would react.

"Yumi," Sachiko spoke. "Let me guess… Over the weekend, did that Masamune boy try to ask you out, say, on a date again?"

Instantly a blush spread upon Yumi's face and she stopped walking. The question was a bombshell. A total math nut, Masamune Kobayashi was the treasurer in Hanadera's school council who once admitted to Sachiko in secret that he was romantically smitten with Yumi.

"Uh… No, not yet!" Yumi stammered.

Touko was giggling at Yumi's reaction. _The stock index for Racoon-Yumi-sama is up for today, people,_ she thought.

* * *

Akio Murasaki, the new Prime Minister of Japan for three months till now, never wanted a very rude awakening against his will, but his job required that he must be informed of any good or bad news. He woke up this morning at home, went through the usual ritual, having a nice breakfast with his wife and two kids, and then whisked off to work in his limo. But when he arrived at his office, which was located near the Diet building, two of his aides were waiting inside, both of them ashened-faced as they handed him the report into his hands.

According to the brief, thirty minutes after the explosion that caused Flight 3209 to disappear from the radar screen, the agencies responsible for plane crash situations were mobilized, with Coast Guard and Maritime SDF rescue teams on their way to the crash site. The Minister of Transportation, as he wrote in the report, said that the chances of any survivors are remote.

As this one could be on the scale of the Lockerbie bombing back in 1989, he may require the assistance of the American National Transportation Safety Board, tasked to investigate complicated plane crashes.

Of course, the airline transmitted the details of the passenger manifest to the Ministry of Transportation, and apart from the report, the initial list also given to Murasaki included three familiar names. Their mention made him feel sick to the stomach and mutter a curse.

Tohru Ogasawara was his old classmate back in Hanadera days.

* * *

The entire morning was uneventful for Sachiko, as she endured several classes, answered questions, and wrote down whatever the professors were teaching. In the midst of one lecture on the principles of economics, even though she tried not to distract herself with daydreams, she thought of what her parents were doing on the flight at the moment.

Perhaps by now they're getting off the plane at the airport, heading to one of the hotels there. Perhaps they're at the negotiating table, with their American counterparts. Perhaps…

Blinking, Sachiko shook her head, trying not to succumb into torpor, and tuned into her professor's lecture. She frowned a bit at her own lapse.

"Pardon me, Miss Ogasawara?" the professor said, halting in mid-lecture, noticing the young woman's odd gesture.

"N… No, it's nothing, ma'am," Sachiko answered as she focused on her notes once more.

The professor shrugged, and then went back to her lecture when a knock on the door interrupted her again. Slightly cross, she walked towards the door and opened, to show a woman standing by.

"Yes?" The professor asked at the woman, who then whispered something back. The woman looked familiar; she was one of the proctors. The professor now faced the class, and eyed Sachiko, who was watching her.

"Miss Ogasawara," the professor said, "please report at the office immediately, as it's is an emergency. You need to go with Miss Kobayashi."

Sachiko rose from her seat. "Why?"

"I can't say, but you're needed."

Sachiko walked alongside with Kobayashi, who said nothing, to the dean's office.

"What's going on?" Sachiko asked the proctor.

"I'm sorry, but I'm assigned to fetch you," Kobayashi answered.

"Okay," the young woman said.

* * *

Once they came upon the door, Kobayashi opened the knob; both walked in and faced the dean, who was seated behind her desk. The name plaque said "Naoko Maeda" in kanji, and the old woman who owned the desk wore a grave expression. Apart from Maeda, a man in a three-piece suit stood by, looking somber.

"Please be seated, Miss Ogasawara," Maeda said, and Sachiko sat down on one of the empty seats offered to her. Maeda nodded to Kobayashi to leave them alone, and that woman walked away and closed the door.

Once they were alone, Maeda gestured at the man standing to introduce himself. He bowed before Sachiko and said, "I'm Mister Tomoguchi, representing the Ministry of Transportation, and… I have something to say, Miss Ogasawara."

"What is it?" Sachiko questioned.

Tomoguchi sighed. "Please do not be alarmed, but this concerns your parents."

Sachiko looked worried this time. "Why?"

"It's my sad duty to say… that your father, mother and grandfather may have not survived Flight 3209," Tomoguchi informed her, before he began to brief her the sordid details regarding the destruction of that flight.

* * *

About twenty minutes later a blood-curdling wail could be heard echoing off the hallway walls. People passing that office shivered as they grimaced at the moans and the crying coming from inside.

* * *

**Author's Notes: **Hi there, it's my first time trying to write something other than my usual series. Well, inspired by the likes of _Wasabi, The Professional, _and other revenge flicks, this was an idea that's been sitting around for three years, but never got to do it. Actually I intended to write something different for everyone, as I've been seeing too many of the same stuff almost all the time. Yes, I admit that there are grown men who love this show, but wishing for an unusual action-packed twist not seen in years, and there's some girls out there with the same sentiments.


	2. Funeral Wake

In Islamabad, Pakistan, a receptionist of an office building was surprised to see a package placed on the counter, thickly-wrapped in brown paper, and it was addressed to the head of the local bureau of a well-known news channel, whose offices were on the fifth floor. He'd seen anonymous drop-offs like this before, mostly Hi-8 tapes or compact discs with some insurgent propaganda video recorded on, but sometimes contained any explosive reportage, such as the beheading of a captured soldier or a spectacularly gruesome roadside IED explosion. The anonymous recordings were handled meticulously, making sure they left no fingerprints or any indications of their origin.

Picking up the intercom phone, the receptionist promptly called the bureau office upstairs.

"Yes?" the man on the other line answered.

The bearded receptionist sighed. "You may have to come and pick this up," he said. "This video here could be your next scoop, but as usual, not pretty."

* * *

MARIA-SAMA GA MITERU: **NINETEEN  
Chapter 2: Funeral Wake  
**Written by soulassassin547  
Rev. Date: 9/28/2010 19:20 a9/p9

* * *

The crash site was located about eight kilometers north of Nemuro, a city in Hokkaido. Eyewitnesses there said that they heard an explosion, before looking up to the sky to see a fireball, which from there flaming debris could also be seen flying away in all directions.

The fragments of the fuselage, the wings and its engines were the first to hit the water. Any remaining aviation fuel spilled onto the surface of the sea was ignited by fire from the debris, creating scattered islands of flame. Soon, this patch of water became crowded with floating junk, including half-burnt luggage, clothing… and bodies and parts of passengers.

About a day passed when the recovery teams found the bodies floating on the water, and while rescue helicopters flew overhead, trying in vain to find any survivors and keeping an eye for anything out of the ordinary, sailors belonging to the Maritime Self-Defense Force and the Coast Guard undertook the grim task of picking up the bodies, debris, and anything that might help explain the mid-air detonation. Of course, the MSDF also brought in a ship equipped with a deep-sea submersible to find the black boxes buried under the cold ocean.

Six hours later the remains of the passengers, loaded onto C-130 Hercules cargo planes, were airlifted back to Tokyo for further forensic identification and study; the recovered remains of the aircraft were being collected in a hangar reserved for investigators.

While the investigation was at full steam, the news networks have focused their attention to the tragedy, and the Japanese people and the world were watching, everyone mourning, questioning, and demanding immediate answers.

* * *

Meanwhile back at the Ogasawara family mansion, Sachiko's almost-distant relatives belonging to the Kashiwagi and Matsudaira clans have finished preparing the household for a funeral wake.

On the grounds, just near the mansion, they erected a large tent to serve for the funeral wake, with black-and-white striped curtains hung around the walls. Inside, large portraits of Sachiko's parents and grandfather were propped up. Below them were large bouquets of flowers (mostly red roses to honor Sayako's time as _Rosa Chinensis_) and wreaths, placed by their closest friends, former classmates, employees and business associates as they streamed in and gathered inside to pay their respects, bowing before the portraits before placing their offerings of flowers at the shrine.

Of all the mourners, the hardest-hit was Yumi's mom, Miki, who'd once looked up to Sachiko's mother while back in her Lillian days, and at the moment Touko's foster mom was trying to console her as she sobbed; meanwhile Yumi's dad was talking to Touko's foster dad, talking about Tohru, recounting how they were once rivals while studying at Hanadera.

Away from the tent, in her bedroom on the second floor, and on the four-poster bed, Sachiko had just finished crying along with Yumi and Touko. Behind closed doors, they were mourning for about an hour after they were informed that the remains of her parents have arrived and identified, due to be cremated later at a mortuary, but the younger soeurs tried their best to console their eldest sister, who came home yesterday in a state of near-catatonia.

Indeed, they were summoned to come at the infirmary, to keep an eye on her after she screamed and then fainted right in the dean's office. It was then while bed-ridden Sachiko told the girls the truth before both soeurs burst into tears.

Yumi, her composure now returned, handed Sachiko a box of tissues. She nodded in thanks, pulled away one of the tissues and dabbed it onto her cheeks, before she sighed.

"What can I do now?" she asked bitterly. "I couldn't decide what to do."

"I have no idea either," Yumi answered, sniffing.

Indeed Sachiko had little idea what she had to do next, other than waiting for the family lawyer to present the will. For a long time she had little idea of how to cope with the unexpectedly-uncertain future, under the false impression that everything was prepared for her, like an unfurled red carpet.

Now she was left with so many questions running in her mind, trying to find the answers to her doubts. Sachiko, being so used to Catholic doctrine, pondered if this tragedy was also God's will.

Was she was being tested, to see if she could stand up to the unexpected? Yes, it could be, but she was worried about what to do in the next few days, or maybe the next few decades.

Sachiko felt overwhelmed, so she covered her face with both palms. But then the three soeurs heard the knocking on the door. Touko got off the bed, walked over and opened the door.

It was Yumi's dad, Yuichiro. He looked tired after working on the wake preparations, but even then, he was determined to do everything to honor Sachiko's parents.

"Oh, sorry for disturbing you all," Yuichiro said. "But it's important."

"What is it, sir?" Touko asked.

"Tell Sachiko that your classmates are here," he said. "They're waiting for you girls."

* * *

Back in Islamabad, right in their offices, the news bureau chief and the pool of reporters grimly watched the video on one of their monitors, listening to the declaration made by one of the masked leaders onscreen for twenty minutes. Behind the man was a banner identifying themselves as the Ten Rings, allied with Al-Qaeda and the Taliban; their mission was the same as the former terrorist organization, but more militant, deadly and sophisticated, their ranks growing by the day.

From their clandestine location, the Ten Rings leader claimed responsibility for the destruction of Flight 3209, and went on ranting about Japan's defense alliance with the United States. The honcho warned of more reprisals against Japanese interests, should the Americans refuse to abandon their operations and military bases in Japan and in Afghanistan, before delving down into the usual condemnation of Israel's actions against the Palestinians.

As the rhetoric continued, the reporters wrote down notes, exchanging opinions, but they unanimously agreed that they had an exclusive. One of the reporters started writing down a script.

A half-hour after the video ended, along with a reporter voice-over finished in a jiffy at the studio, one of the in-house editors began uploading the raw footage and the processed two-minute video to the company server in Qatar with a dedicated high-speed broadband line.

* * *

It was a solemn reunion of sorts for the entire _Yamayurikai_ council, as the three Red Roses came face to face with their friends, and by tradition they greeted themselves with _Gokigenyou_.

"I'm sorry for what happened," Yoko said almost quietly to Sachiko, who looked somber.

Sachiko sighed. "Didn't expect this… But I can't find the words."

"Look," Yoko said as she placed her hand on Sachiko's shoulder. "Don't try to worry too much. Be glad that we came here."

Indeed, the past and present members of the _Yamayurikai_ and their friends all stared at Sachiko with complete sympathy; the _Rosa Gigantea _and the _Rosa Foetida_ families were grouped together: Sei Satou, Shimako Todou and Noriko Nijou held their bouquets of white roses, while the group led by Eriko Torii, along with Rei Hasekura, Yoshino Shimazu and Nana Arima had yellow roses with them. With the exception of the former Roses, most of them wore their school uniforms.

In addition, the representatives of the _Lillian Kawarahan_ were also here, not as reporters but like everyone else: Tsutako Takeshima, along with Shoko Naitou and Mami Yamaguchi; they held each a red rose.

Even though she was never selected as a member, but nevertheless an important ally thereafter, Kanako Hosokawa towered over them, with a mixed bouquet of all three rose colors.

Finally, as a gesture of goodwill and solidarity, even the student council boys from Hanadera, including Yuuki as its (almost reluctant) school president, were also present with their large red-rose wreaths.

"We're all together in this," Yoko declared. "You'll need our support, just like the old days."

The tribute moved Sachiko. "Thank you," she said, trying not to burst into tears but failed. Yoko consoled her by embracing, letting her cry on the older girl's shoulder.

Afterwards, with Sachiko watching them, her friends walked over to in front of the shrine, bowed deeply, and then one by one they solemnly placed their offerings of roses, while Shimako and Noriko whispered Buddhist prayers for the dead.

* * *

After the whole group finished paying their respects, they all went to the mansion and settled down at the living room for a private get-together; while some of them were talking about their awful plane explosion, much of the Yamayurikai were clustered around the coffee table, seated on the couches, voicing their concerns for Sachiko's future.

Liston and two maids served tea, hot cocoa and coffee for Sachiko's visitors, passing the drinks around, before another maid carted into the living room a trolley full of pastries.

"May I ask something?" Shimako said, seated and facing Sachiko.

Sachiko looked back at her, eyes still somber. "Yes?"

"I'm worried as to how you'll be able to live on your own."

The former Rosa Chinensis sighed and shook her head. "I just don't know," she said, instinctively brushing her long hair away. "But I'm sure it'll be harder."

"You can still learn," Sei added. "I know you have that knack somewhere in your heart, to keep on living."

Sachiko said nothing, except she sighed.

"I understand that this is really painful for you," Yoko said, "but as soon as the funeral is over, you have to move on. Instead, think about of the living; Think about us, and you'll never be alone." She then pointed out Yumi and Touko, who nodded in agreement.

Sachiko shook her head, wishing this tragedy never happened, for her parents were trying to get their relationship back on track, the Ogasawara men reforming themselves out of self-conscience. Watching them improve themselves made her happy, bolstering hopes for the future.

But it was all too soon, gone before they could make the most of their second chance in life.

Now, just as the news pundits were asking since yesterday, who is to blame for the explosion, then? If so, why? How can such a grave heartbreak happen to her family? If it was indeed a terrorist bomb, then why they do it, and for what reason?

She heard everything about terrorism from prime-time news, footage of rough-faced men in scarves, crawling in the desert sand with their guns, throwing grenades into houses, blowing up trucks, talking on the camera about killing Americans and anyone who opposed them, telling their captive audience to take up arms and destroy their enemies…

Sachiko couldn't understand why such men regard their bloody deeds as a tribute to the deity they worshiped. Why?

She remembered some weeks ago, when a visiting bishop came to Lillian for a symposium on religious tolerance and understanding. Standing before his audience, he lectured first about the centuries of prejudice, intolerance, and misinterpretation of faiths, causing religious wars through the ages; while a projector showed images of violence and war, he talked about the European Thirty Years War between the Catholics and the Protestants; the Crusades in the Middle Ages; the Holocaust during World War II; and, with a tone of disappointment, the current conflict between the West and the Middle East, including car bombs, massacres, air raids, hostage-taking...

The bishop asked his audience, why such needless violence must be committed when those religions were supposed to emphasize love and understanding between men and all of humanity? Why try to destroy one religion for the sake of another? Is it not a travesty, a complete violation of the supposedly peaceful tenets that their teachers, prophets and priests have established centuries ago?

From his podium, the bishop then suggested that if true peace needed to be obtained for the survival of mankind, the extremists from all faiths must be suppressed with moderation, all believers should be educated about religious differences, and above all, religious leaders should be taking the lead as examples of tolerance, unity and peace, not ignorance, division and destruction.

But the bishop warned that it would take time and effort to reach that goal, with many roadblocks of unawareness on the way, and he told the students that they have the will and the opportunity of youth to change the future.

Now, if the explosion was an act of terrorism, why her parents and hundreds have to die for such pointless violence in the name of God? Sachiko asked herself.

Why?

* * *

On the other hand, Yumi almost had the same thoughts as her _onee-sama;_ she still couldn't believe that this tragedy could happen without warning.

Yumi remembered that almost three years ago, Sachiko's grandmother died; she had to go through that phase of grief, of losing that irreplaceable connection to the past. Back then, the reason there was a spectacular case of misunderstanding between them, was that Sachiko was asked by her grandmother not to tell Yumi of her dying; the old lady heard of stories about Sachiko's younger sister, rekindling those long-lost days. The resulting miscommunication, along with Touko's presence, nearly derailed their relationship, before it took a request from Sayako to summon Yumi to deal with her older sister.

Now, Yumi shook her head, this is the worst that Sachiko had to contend, for with the death of her parents the world she lived in was in peril, and an uncertain future awaited.

Yet she thought of one way that might help Sachiko, and voiced her idea.

"I thought that…" Yumi trailed off, trying to pick the right words, "if it's all right that, after I ask them, you could stay with us?"

For a moment Sachiko gazed up at the ceiling, attempting to make up her mind. She wondered, what would happen long after the funeral was over? What would she do here?

Given the immense size of the mansion, it didn't take long for Sachiko to comprehend that she would be very lonely. Terribly lonely.

The past year since her graduation was the only length of time that Sachiko was confidently able to talk to her parents, as her father tried to restore and rekindle everything that was lost. Once absent, Sachiko's father came home early, quite unusual at first but it turned out that he was taking the first step in making life within the mansion more bearable.

Encouraged, Sachiko performed for her parents some pieces on the grand piano every Saturday night after dinner, as the living music of the ivories filled up this otherwise-silent living room. But now the grand piano was silent, untouched since last Saturday, as if it was hushed not to make another note.

"I'm not sure," Sachiko said. "But I'll try to talk to them and see if they might agree, okay?" she added, referring to Yumi's parents.

Yumi nodded.

* * *

In his office, amidst the reports strewn about on his desk, and the general atmosphere of urgency around him, with his aides moving back and forth, answering telephone and fax inquiries, Prime Minister Murasaki was watching the recent Al-Jazeera news update on his TV set, a statement made by a representative of a terror group on video.

He was suddenly angry, pounding his fist on the desk in outrage, as the scarf-wearing spokesperson belonging to a group called the Ten Rings, claimed responsibility for the bombing of Flight 3209 and made demands for the Allies to withdraw from Afghanistan, and the United States to leave Japan. Murasaki quickly picked up the phone and dialed the number for the Defense Minister's office.

"I want to talk to your boss immediately," he said to the secretary manning the phone, taking notes. "Tell him that the situation has become critical."

"Yes, sir," she answered.

Once he placed the phone back to its cradle, Murasaki tried to analyze just how many feet his country has stepped on. So far, he knew that Japan's gesture of international intervention was largely humanitarian, with aid groups giving assistance in developing countries. But at one point his predecessor sent SDF troops to Iraq to support the occupying forces by providing aid, much to the consternation of legislators in the Diet, arguing that the move was a complete violation of Article 9 in the Constitution, which prohibits the other uses of the SDF other than internal national defense. Thus the resulting furor forced the then-prime minister to pull out the _Jietai_ contingent from Iraq.

Now, although Japan's association with the United States was principally based on the need for mutual defense, this, Murasaki thought, made the country a prime target, as one of those terrorist leaders promised that he would attack anyone allied to America. And, considering the Ten Rings' demands, what could he do, drop everything that they worked hard for decades after World War Two?

Overwhelmed, Murasaki sighed in frustration.

* * *

Among the visitors that were streaming into the Ogasawara estate in cars, every one of them invited personally, Vincent Hayashida, behind the wheel of his late-model Honda Civic, had a lot of questions running through his mind, as the deaths of his employers had left the whole company almost headless.

The 48-year-old man had already seen the newscasts, read off the websites and the dailies, heard the news on the radio; there was no escaping that it was one of the worst peacetime disasters in Japanese history; the last time there was a plane crash involving hundreds dead, it was back in 1985 when a Japan Airlines 747 crashed into a mountain on a foggy day.

As Vincent turned to a vacant parking lot and parked there, he remembered that, about an hour ago the board of directors finished discussing about the contingency plans they have set to take effect tomorrow morning; they have also selected an interim CEO and a president to take over the vacant positions left by the Ogasawara leadership.

For a moment, Vincent paused to look at himself in the rear-view mirror, to make sure he looked right, adjusting his tie, before he opened the door and stepped out. He then straightened out his three-piece suit, sighed and began to make his way to the tent. Already people milled about on the lawn around the tent, talking and gesturing, trying to do something to get busy for a while before going home. Vincent saw some familiar faces, so he made small talk with them, for a couple of minutes until he was free to enter the tent.

There was a table placed near the entrance, and two women, acting as receptionists, asked Vincent to present either his invitation or any credentials, and he was obliged to show them his company calling card:

OGASAWARA GROUP**  
Hayashida Vincent  
**Deputy Chief Security Officer

Satisfied with his calling card, the women thanked him and gestured Vincent to come inside, the man pausing for a while to take off his shoes, as the tent was laid with tatami mats. Finding a spot for himself, he sat down cross-legged and began to wait.

As the deputy CSO, Vincent was tasked to assist the company CSO in all matters of security, including measures against espionage, petty crime, computer hacking, misuse of funds, and other white-collar crimes. The corporate security apparatus was also tasked with the safety and integrity of all Ogasawara assets, properties and personnel, and most recently, disaster planning and coordination.

The last item was what Vincent came here for, as he waited for the interim CEO, Hiroki Munetaka, to finish, who was at the moment preoccupied with an interesting yet muted conversation with the chief financial officer and the chief operations officer.

Vincent reorganized his thoughts, wondering if the surviving daughter could cope with the loss of her parents, and, should she be named a possible successor, deal with the inevitable responsibility of leadership.

_No_, Vincent disagreed. _Miss Ogasawara is still too young to take that role._

He remembered being hired for the job two years ago, once out of the United States Navy; he'd been born in Hawaii, to a couple of _Nisei_, Japanese-Americans living since the 1900s, his ancestors working on the sugarcane plantations.

After high school he was accepted at Annapolis as a cadet, and once he graduated, passing with flying colors he joined the Navy. Not content with his butterbar rank for a couple of years at sea, and always eager for an adventuresome challenge since his days playing quarterback in the high school football team, he applied as a volunteer for the Navy SEALs, one of the toughest elite forces on earth. It took him two tries to make it through the infamous Hell Week, before he made it and diligently studied the down-and-dirty intricacies of special operations work. Once he earned the coveted eagle insignia on his chest, and then happily married to a fellow _Nisei_, Vincent found himself in every trouble spot in the world, in Kuwait, Somalia, Bosnia, Kosovo, Afghanistan, and then Iraq.

The last assignment was supposed to be the culmination of his duty, when he received a call that his wife had ovarian cancer, forcing him to leave early. The next few years Vincent had to take care of his dying wife, and tried to look after his son while having to train new SEALs at Coronado.

But once his wife died, Vincent made the decision to retire early as lieutenant-commander, and took himself and his son to Japan. Thanks to his parents, who schooled him in the native tongue at home, Vincent prospered, landing a job at the Ogasawara Group, after the corporate headhunters pored over his resume and decided that they needed a specialist who could help them see through the post-9/11 era, in these days of car bombs, unstable governments, and terrorism.

From there Vincent was assigned to make security surveys in countries with stability problems, whenever the Ogasawaras planned to visit those countries; at home he undertook the job of checking the security of every branch across Japan, instituting proper security measures and putting security personnel through his methods of training on matters of counterterrorism, crime detection and prevention.

Now, as one of the men responsible for disaster management, taking the dour business of setting their measures in motion, Vincent was to personally brief his superior on the current situation regarding the destruction of Flight 3209.

Just then Munetaka saw him and walked over, causing Vincent to get up onto his feet and they bowed, before the new CEO asked, "So, what's the matter this time? You should've called me."

Vincent shook his head. "Can't. Turns out it's a real bombing. A group called the Ten Rings claimed responsibility."

Munetaka frowned. "Ten Rings?"

"Yes," Vincent confirmed. "New terrorist cell that's been making headlines in the last couple of years. Usually they do the dirty work in Afghanistan and in Pakistan, but now they made the claim, that's been changed." He then explained what the Ten Rings were for about eight minutes.

"What business do they want with us? They think we're bothering them just because we have American bases right here," Munetaka remarked sourly.

"They'll strike whoever is associated with the Americans, and unfortunately the Ten Rings wasn't joking," Vincent replied.

The other man sighed in frustration. This, and the fact that Ogasawara Group stock have plummeted along with the rest of the Tokyo Stock Exchange in the last 36 hours had put them in a quandary; investor and stockholder confidence was at a fragile time when things aren't coming up roses since the last prime minister and his cabinet failed to turn everything around during the burgeoning economic crisis.

"I see," Munetaka concluded. "But I forgot to ask… Do you have anything else to do here?"

Vincent nodded. "I'd better pay my respects to Mister Ogasawara, because he's the one who picked me out."

* * *

Yumi had memories of mingling with the elder Ogasawaras; about two years ago she first met Sayako on New Year's Eve, her kindness dispelling Yumi's nervousness as the girl stepped into the mansion. From there, Yumi felt special whenever she came here, or at the family vacation home up in the countryside, and they told him that they accorded her respect because of her close friendship with Sachiko, through thick and thin.

Now, as she sipped her cup of green tea, Yumi was deeply concerned for the future of her _one-sama, _facing an uncertain future where anyone caught unprepared may suffer.

What would she do?

Yumi then remembered the last New Year's Eve when both families got together for the first time, along with the Matsudairas, and between their parents memories were rekindled; while her father finally got over with his old rivalry with Sachiko's dad after all those years; her mother, in a far corner, was talking to Sachiko's mom about their days back in Lillian.

The last was quite an eye-opener, as her mom showed to Sayako a library book that she hid for many years; as she opened to the first page, there was her handwriting, and suddenly everything came back to her.

The next minute Sayako and Miki explained everything how that happened on that fateful afternoon, in the old greenhouse where Sayako was then taking a nap when Miki walked in without warning; Miki then recounted how she absent-mindedly had Sayako autograph the library textbook, before she realized her mistake in which she had to replace the book with a new one.

For the three Roses it was a revelation, and Yumi wondered aloud if it was a cosmic coincidence that their mothers never knew that one day their children would become soeurs.

Now Yumi looked up from her half-full cup and watched Sachiko talking to Yoko at a far corner, seriously pondering about the future.

"She's no different from me," Touko said.

Yumi blinked. "Why?"

"I'm an orphan just as she is, now that Uncle and Auntie aren't… Here anymore." Touko then sighed as she held Yumi's hand. "So I'm worried as you are," she added.

* * *

Within Touko, she understood Sachiko's plight, for she lost both of her parents in a car accident when she was an infant, and then adopted by a classmate of her mother whose firstborn died in birth. However her fate was sealed when she was in line to inherit the country hospital north of Tokyo, but as she was still young, years away from obtaining a medical doctorate, Touko then wasn't sure of herself.

Completely torn, Touko ran away but finally sought brief refuge in Yumi's home, and was surprised that Yumi offered her to come into her room, a rare gesture that Touko would've preferred Sachiko to take her place.

Going back to where she was contemplating, Touko knew that there was no way that Sachiko would ever try to rejoin Kashiwagi again, now that the man had finally made his choice by not taking her as a bride; lately she heard rather unsavory rumors that he was seeing someone of the same sex in Harajuku, so the idea of Sachiko turning to Kashiwagi was no longer possible.

Now what alternatives Sachiko would have to choose from? Touko knew that she could try to find another man, preferably equal or exceeding Sachiko's wealth; after all, her newfound friendship with some of the Hanadera men, especially Yuuki, altered Sachiko's perception of the opposite sex, as not all of them were womanizers, lechers or playboys;

But, no, Sachiko wouldn't accept another wealthy man, as she had already voiced her disappointment with the constrictive trappings of wealth, and wished that she could live simply as her petite soeur.

The only way left then for Sachiko was to fend on her own, but the problem was that how she could manage her life in such a way? Drastically, if Sachiko needed to live as she wished, she'll have to give up everything.

Yet to surrender would be tantamount to dishonoring her parents and her ancestry, who'd been working for all of their lives to create and nurture what the Ogasawara Group has become today.

Touko sighed. If Sachiko needed to preserve her heritage, and to live as though the plane crash never existed, she'll have to hand over the corporation to other men who would manage it in her name, which explains why the interim CEO, Hiroki Munetaka, was here not just to pay his respects to his long-gone boss, but presumably also to ask for Sachiko's full permission to run the corporation as part of an emergency measure.

* * *

"Where's your father?" Sachiko asked Yoko. Both young women were standing by the window, watching the crowds outside as the night slowly crept in, the lightposts turning on automatically.

"Since last night, he's been working on your granddad's Last Will and Testament," Yoko said. "Of course I don't know much about the details."

Sachiko nodded. "I see," she whispered.

"You're a few days away from your birthday, and I'm pretty sure you'll make up your mind as to what to do once that testament comes into your hands."

"I know… Yet whatever it would say wouldn't matter much to me," Sachiko admitted.

Yoko had a double-take. "What?"

"If all this," Sachiko said, upraising her hand as if to emphasize that the mansion was an example of her wealth, "No, if all this were to be given to someone else, that's okay; if it's for charity, I wouldn't mind." Sachiko then bowed her head, and added, "All I want is to live simply as I really wanted; I don't want to go on living a very complicated life."

"But… Sachiko, your parents have worked hard to get this far, and then you wanted to leave all this behind? It's like you're throwing it all away."

Inwardly, Yoko was alarmed, for she figured out that Sachiko wasn't thinking rationally since yesterday, and she knew that at times of emotional distress and given her near-isolated upbringing, Sachiko would regress and retreat from within. So, wearing once more the old mantle of _Rosa Chinensis_, she took hold of her and added, "Look at me and listen."

Obediently Sachiko stared into Yoko's eyes.

"You have to snap yourself out of that deep funk, and it's not going to give you any good," Yoko said, pausing only to sigh. "You're smart, you still have some talent, and I know that you were able to lead the Yamayurikai without much of a scratch, so why can't you use those abilities for this kind of situation, just like now?"

Yoko shook her head. "Sachiko, you're almost a woman now, one step closer to a riskier world where survival is everything and you have to be smart. I hate to say this, but you have to preserve your parent's legacy, as you're their only heir, and you've been raised to take on the responsibility. Now, I ask you one thing: can you handle it?"

Trying to make up her mind, Sachiko closed her eyes.

"I'll try what I could," she whispered after a moment. "I promise."

"You're sure?" Yoko asked.

Sachiko nodded. "Yes."

* * *

**Author's Notes:** Sorry if I was working IRL, trying to get some free time to think and write while dividing that free time between this and my other fic. It's not easy multi-tasking, you know, as I'm more of a "one at a time" man. So I have to get each chapter out every week as much as possible, as I understand that I don't want to leave my audience hanging, nor my writings unfinished.

Now, if you have any questions, comments and criticisms, just tell me. I'm welcome to listen, and if possible address your issues. Thanks and just wait for the next installment!


	3. Prayers for the Dead

_In safety and in bliss / May all creatures be of a blissful heart. / Whatever breathing beings there may be, / No matter whether they are frail or firm, / With none excepted, be they long or big / Or middle-sized, or be they short or small / Or thick, as well as those seen or unseen, / Or whether they are far or near, / Existing or yet seeking to exist, / May all creatures be of a blissful heart. / Let no one work another's undoing / Or even slight him at all anywhere; / And never let them wish another ill / Through provocation or resentful thought. /_

_And just as might a mother with her life / Protect the son that was her only child, / So let him then for every living thing / Maintain unbounded consciousness in being, / And let him too with love for all the world / Maintain unbounded consciousness in being / Above, below, and all round in between, / Untroubled, with no enemy or foe._

_And while he stands or walks, or while he sits / Or while he lies down, free from drowsiness, / Let him resolve upon this mindfulness. / This is Divine Abiding here, they say._

- _A Prayer for the Dead, _Metta Sutta

* * *

Holding a can of coffee in his right hand, Vincent flicked his wrist around to check the time on his battle-scarred Luminox watch; told him it was past eight in the evening as the funeral wake was still in full swing, with more guests arriving.

Vincent sighed, but he still has to carry out his duties, which included supervising the security team that was assigned to patrol the estate grounds and the perimeter fence enclosing the 8-acre property. So far the guards told him there was only a few incidents with some TV reporters and a pair of photographers trying to get close as possible to the funeral wake.

He then looked up at the mansion, built a few decades after Commodore Perry arrived in Japan, which commenced the opening of the country to the world. Like many Japanese buildings during the Meiji period, it was patterned after common European design of the time, elegant and imposing, a definitive sign that the family was old money.

Historically the Ogasawaras weren't known for public exposure (barring the open knowledge that the family males traditionally had mistresses until a year ago) and they were strictly conservative, and in fact Vincent once heard from Munetaka an anecdote as to how their old boss Harumi once, back in the eighties, refused an offer by the producers of _The Lifestyles of the Rich and Famous _to document a slice of their lives. When asked why, old Harumi told them that, unlike the noveau riche in the billionaires' club, their family traditionally eschewed ostentatious displays of wealth. The story since then became legend among many in company lore.

Recalling the tale somehow amused Vincent, as he tossed the can into a wastebasket and ambled back to the tent, with guests filing in. Halfway across, he felt his cellular phone vibrating and pulled it out quickly from his pocket.

"Yes, this is Hayashida here. May I ask who this is?" he asked.

"This is Prime Minister Murasaki," the caller answered, the familiar voice from the post-election interviews causing Vincent to blink twice. _Well, the man himself,_ he thought.

"Your Excellency, what can I do for you?" Vincent asked, using the formal address and title, "…and how did you know my number?"

Murasaki cleared his throat. "Mister Hayashida, I was informed that, after my aides tried to contact your superiors, and sorry to say that they were probably busy, you are the only one available at the moment, as I would like to pay my respects for Mister Ogasawara, his wife and father."

Vincent nodded. "I see. I'll have your request arranged, sir. No problem."

"Thank you," Murasaki answered. "We will be here in a moment."

Once the call was cut off, Vincent thought, _Definitely this family do have a lot of people in high places. _The former Navyman then turned to the mansion and walked up the stairs.

* * *

MARIA-SAMA GA MITERU: **NINETEEN  
Chapter 3: PRAYERS FOR THE DEAD  
**Written by soulassassin547  
8/20/2011 2:41 a8/p8

* * *

With the rest of her companions still inside the living room, trying to make the most of their time by playing card and board games and some small talk in between, Sachiko kept her station by the window, watching the guests park their cars and head towards the tent.

She wanted to come back in and try to entertain their guests, but the mere voices of her friends were preferred music for her ears; Sachiko could hear them bantering about school, home, and in the case of the former Roses, term papers and part-time jobs.

From her past exchanges with them since her graduation, Sachiko knew that Sei Satou had spent a summer internship working for an American firm as a translator; that Eriko Torii had a stint as an aide for an avant-garde fashion designer; and Yoko Mizuno, being in line to inherit her father's law firm, did after-classes intern work at their office.

Sachiko wondered what if the responsibility fell into her hands, should she attend the reading of the will. Sure, she knew that the family firm held a wide sway over the Japanese retailing industry, but admitted that she then had a scant idea as to how things work from inside, hence her enrollment at the business school.

Being repentant, her father invited her to come visit the main department store in Shibuya, introducing to her the inner workings of retailing, the tricks of the trade and how products were being marketed to potential customers. Sachiko was able to appreciate her father's critical role in day-to-day operations, surprised at the far extent of resources needed to sustain the corporation's existence.

Going back to the question, Sachiko decided that she would only take the helm after being prepared for that role, and she now knew that it would be arduous, and effectively on she was on her own.

But then she suddenly thought of the future, of what she would look like about two decades later.

Sachiko pictured herself, of being the last to leave the penthouse office right on top of the company skyscraper, packing her papers into a briefcase, and then glancing out of the huge windows at the night-time skyline, before focusing back to her reflection on the glass…

Her hair tied in a bun, face showing a bit of age lines, the weariness hidden beneath layers of makeup, and her eyes behind a pair of horn-rimmed glasses.

Blinking back to the present, Sachiko wondered if that would be her future, with Yumi and Touko on their own, both girls more likely to marry and eventually have children of their own someday...

But what about herself?

After her time with Suguru Kashiwagi, which led to them calling off the relationship and becoming friends only, Sachiko still didn't thought much about men in roles other than a few as trusted allies, such as Yuuki and the eccentric Hanadera student council.

Throughout the year since her graduation, Sachiko didn't allow any men to ask her for a date (and none of them tried to do so), not quite sure as to how she could conduct herself with a man whom she doesn't know about. Indeed, she doubted men outside her circle, most of them weren't sure-footed or too childish for her tastes.

Sachiko sighed; there was little choice except to live with the sordid possibility of loneliness for years to come…

"Pardon me, miss," said a voice that was behind her. Startled, Sachiko whirled around to see Vincent Hayashida standing before her.

"What do you need?" Sachiko asked, as she blinked.

"Oh, I'm sorry but I have to inform you that the Prime Minister is coming," Vincent said. "Naturally, your presence is required."

Sachiko nodded. "I see. Murasaki was my father's classmate back when they were studying at Hanadera," she said. "They were on the student council in those days."

"How did you know that?" Vincent asked.

"He told me about him, when he was selected as Prime Minister a few months ago. By the way, I… Who are you?"

Vincent sighed and then smiled. "I'm Vincent Hayashida, deputy chief security officer, and I'm the one managing the guards here right now. So far, nothing out of the ordinary, miss." The former commando then peered out at the window; saw the Prime Minister's limo arriving into the compound.

"He's here now," Vincent informed her.

* * *

Stepping out of the Mercedes limo, Prime Minister Akio Murasaki was accompanied by two of his aides while several National Police bodyguards in severe black suits got off their SUVs, and they all headed to the funeral tent. As he requested and out of respect for the dead, Murasaki disallowed any official press coverage, yet outside the fence the television crews – the vultures, really - were already reporting about his unannounced stopover.

Once he stepped into the tent, everyone stood up and bowed deeply, as Murasaki walked up to the shrine and for a moment he stared at the three portraits, whispering his prayers before he bowed.

Afterwards he turned back and began exchanging whispered small talk with the relatives, guests, and Sachiko's classmates, until he saw the young woman standing there. Promptly he approached her, bowed and said, "Miss Ogasawara, I presume?"

Sachiko bowed in return and replied, "Yes."

"I give my sympathies for your loss," Murasaki whispered.

"Thank you, Your Excellency," Sachiko responded.

Murasaki sighed. "Right now, we're trying our best to find out as to who is responsible for this… tragedy. I assure you that sooner or later we will have an answer to all that."

Sachiko nodded.

The prime minister looked around and he said, "May I have a word with you? Just for a few moments?"

"You may do so," Sachiko answered. "Come with me into the house. The library would be fine, and do you wish for some tea?"

"Of course," Muarasaki agreed.

* * *

The library inside the mansion afforded a degree of privacy, with books lining the shelves, and already the fireplace was lit. Sachiko let Murasaki sit down first on one of the cushioned chairs before she sat down and, with a nod, Liston laid down two cups of tea on the coffee table. The butler then left the room without a word.

They sampled the tea by sipping, before Murasaki decided that it was time to tell her the truth.

"Even though it's too early to conclude," he began, "investigators have told me that this isn't a freak accident or a case of mechanical failure…"

"So, is this the work of terrorists?" Sachiko asked.

Murasaki nodded. "Unfortunately, yes. According to experts I talked to, the plane is essentially new and put up with so much safety features that any problem can be fixed before taking off, but an explosion of this magnitude no doubt makes it a terror bombing. You may have not known this yet, but already a group calling themselves the Ten Rings claim responsibility on television, yet we're still finding out if indeed this is their handiwork."

Sachiko blinked twice, as if she couldn't comprehend what she was hearing. "The Ten Rings?"

"It's a terrorist group based in Pakistan and Afghanistan, dedicated to the removal of the American presence in both countries," he explained, "and are already taking over roles that Al-Qaeda once did, such as the September 11 attack in New York, and those embassy bombings in Africa. Now if their allegations are true, then this is their first attack abroad, and against a country other than the United States. Why? Because for years we allowed the Americans operate their military bases here for national security reasons, such as keeping our country safe against the possibility of a nuclear attack, and to maintain what they call a 'check and balance' on the movements of China and North Korea."

"But why attack us? Why do they have to kill many innocent people?" Sachiko asked, almost sounding indignant.

"Because we're allied to the Americans, the Ten Rings are obliged to attack anyone who is tied to that country, because to them America is their great enemy that is curtailing their beliefs and thus they must destroy. Killing civilians with no apology is one way they want to make a point, to make other people doubt the security that the state provides, to instill fear and uncertainty, to the point when citizens will distrust their own government."

Murasaki watched Sachiko sigh and then prop her head sideways against a free hand, as if she was hit by a migraine.

"What can we do?" she questioned. "I mean, if they're the ones responsible, how can they be stopped?"

The most powerful man in Japan at the moment shook his head. "I'm afraid that only the Americans are capable of doing everything they could to bring them down. Yet because the Americans are divided over themselves and with their foreign policies, they spend more time politicking and worrying about public criticism, than taking real action. Because of that, as an example, Bin Laden and his followers are still at large, never caught despite having the best-trained military forces in the world.

"For now, the only thing we could do is to be vigilant, and of course an investigation is now underway to determine who actually planted the bomb, because, as one of my aides told me while we watched their declaration on television, there's no way a member of the Ten Rings would come here and do just that; because with his thin face and long nose he'll stick out here in our country like a sore thumb."

Sachiko was taken aback. "You mean… This is the work of someone else?"

"It's possible," Murasaki said. "It's possible that the Ten Rings probably contracted somebody who could blend in and plant the explosives on the plane, and, considering that group is getting very large amounts of funding from unknown sources, they could pay anyone mercenary enough to carry out their orders."

Sachiko couldn't believe that Murasaki was able to polevault into such speculations like he was saying now, and so she asked, "How… How did you come to that conclusion?"

Murasaki gave her a sheepish smile. "Because, pardon me, Miss Ogasawara, I'm a fan of mystery and detective novels," he admitted. "Your father also once led the detective club at Hanadera, and that I was a member."

* * *

Murasaki began telling his tale to Sachiko, as to how he crossed paths with Tohru at Hanadera; he was then a transfer student, and on the first day not sure how the sons of the well-to-do could accept him in his ranks. Later on that day a bunch of bullies cornered him and suddenly gave Murasaki a beating, kicking him down until Tohru appeared before them. Enraged, Tohru threatened them to report the bullies to the principal but the bullies did otherwise by venting their anger at him. Yet Tohru was trained and obtained a black-belt in aikido, and he took on all five of the toughies until he had them spitting dirt.

The next day Tohru came up to Murasaki and asked if he could join the aikido and mystery clubs, and the latter accepted the former's offers. Murasaki surprised his new friend with his knowledge on detective mysteries, anything from Sherlock Holmes to Agatha Christie, all the while offering the club his own fiction writings, which the mimeographed novellas and the manga doujinshi adaptations sold like pancakes during the school's cultural festival.

In gratitude Tohru asked him if he could join the school council, and out of friendship he accepted one of the positions as vice-president, holding the post until graduation.

Since then both men went their separate ways, with Tohru staying in Hanadera University for business management studies, and Murasaki tackling both economics and political science. The next time they saw each other again, Murasaki was then running for a representative seat in the Diet and was also looking for someone to bankroll his election campaign. After hearing of Murasaki's intentions for election and promises to the voters, as the generous friend once more Tohru gave him enough secret funding to ensure his victory.

Thereafter Murasaki rose in rank, pushing his way up while keeping his reputation clean, which endeared to the voting public, until five months ago he became the most likely man in the party to become prime minister. As always, Tohru gave him a blank check with no preconditions, and Murasaki went ahead, finally clenching the position left behind by his disgraced predecessor.

"I didn't regret what he did for me," Murasaki told Sachiko. "But you and I know that there's a word for it: _gakubatsu_… No, it's not for a bad reason, but your father saw that I had better things to do for this country, like cleaning up the mess that the last guy left behind."

Mursaki sighed. "Your father was a good man. Womanizer maybe, but he was still human. I knew that because at one time – last year - he asked me to come for a drink."

* * *

Down south and on the eastern portion of the Miura peninsula, beyond the port city of Yokohama lies the smaller city of Yokosuka, which possessed the largest American naval base west of Hawaii, and is currently home to the Seventh Fleet. In addition to the American military presence, the city is also home to a portion of the Maritime Self-Defense Force's fleet of destroyers, and the Defense Academy.

Just a half-kilometer west of downtown Yokosuka, in the warren of narrow streets formed by tiled-roof homes tight-packed in the usual Japanese way, a 20-year-old man was hunched behind his custom-built computer, playing _World of Warcraft_, and he also had his headset on for the use of Ventrilo, the popular voice-communication software used by most online players.

Online and in the game, he'd been busy killing monsters with his party, some of them his former elementary-school classmates back in the States, and some of them were kids living within the base, kids studying at Niles Kinnick High School behind the wire fence.

As Seiji "Shaun" Hayashida commanded his high-level Death Knight to buff the party (they're all Horde loyalists) and blast a withering assault against their foes, his mind was busy calculating about how much damage they were dishing; hit points popping out with each attack, while he and his posse looked out for the hurt they were getting in return.

Oh, it was still a thrill playing, and even more that he felt at home with these guys more than he could try to integrate with the locals, some of them who had a double-take with Seiji's brand of accented Japanese, which instantly marked him as a _gaijin_.

But that didn't stopped Seiji from studying computer and information science at Temple University in downtown Tokyo, where there were students who were more like him, especially those coming from elsewhere: Americans, Europeans, Africans, Chinese, Latinos... Every one of them had a reason to come here; some to simply study, others who liked to appreciate Japanese culture and all, and, lately, those who come for the sake of fulfilling their anime fanboy/fangirl fantasies.

The last type annoyed him within, and on their first day the newbie-fanboys would gush loudly, how they were finally walking the hallowed ground of their favorite characters, how they were looking forward to go ride the train to Akihabara and then raid the famous geek shops with their pocket money, hoping somehow their haul of figurines, DVDs and junk would be shipped back home. Seiji snorted, that (except for the few and sensible who kept their anime enthusiasm in check) some of those creatures don't quite last the school year, almost penniless from all the goodies they bought, and by the end of the semester they quit and fly back to where they came from.

The thought made Seiji laugh, as he saw his experience bar creeping close to 99%. _Oh, damn, another friggin' level!_

99.1%...  
99.6%...  
99.8%...  
99.9%...

He did it, having done to clear level 65, and Seiji was whooping right there, exclaiming how he claimed his new level, telling his party buddies, who were congratulating him in return:

"Congratulations!"  
"Hey, that was kick-ass, buddy!"  
"Awesome!"  
"Good job!"

Seiji sighed and replied, "Thanks, guys. It's been long enough to get there." He looked up at the clock and noted that it was twenty minutes before 11. He wondered, _What's Dad's up to right now?_

The young man grabbed his cellphone and dialed the number, before he waited.

Back in the Ogasawara manor, Vincent felt his cellphone vibrate and he pulled it out of his pocket. He then paused for a moment to look at the caller ID, told him it was Seiji, and he answered, "Yes?"

"Dad, what time you're coming home?" Seiji asked.

Vincent sighed. "I don't know. Why?"

Seiji sounded disappointed. "What's going on, Dad?"

"Haven't you heard the news?"

"No. I'm on the PC, working on my term paper," Seiji lied, but then he already shut down _WoW, _opened his browser and logged onto the _Mainichi Daily News_ website. He was surprised that a plane explosion had already occurred this morning, and began reading off the headline.

"You say that… The folks running the store got killed up there, right?" Seiji questioned as he read.

"No kidding, son," Vincent said, "which explains why I'm stuck here and have to do my job. We have to keep an eye on the mansion, too."

"Mansion? Where are you now?"

"I'm right at the Ogasawara place, you know. I told you about it."

"Oh, I remember… What about the girl you also said?" Seiji asked, recalling the small tidbit about Sachiko.

"Miss Ogasawara? Well, she's here, but in mourning."

Seiji gave out a sigh of disappointment.

"I'll tell you more once I get home, okay? Maybe I'll be home before dawn," Vincent said. "Anything else?"

"Tell that girl my condolences. I hope she'll appreciate that."

"Okay. I'll see you later, son. Goodbye," Vincent said.

"Goodbye, Dad. Love you," Seiji answered before he heard the line click off. The young man put down his phone on the desk and pondered.

Ever since his father started working for the Ogasawara Group, the old man came home with some after-dinner stories to tell, as if to make corporate life more palatable; he said of office politics, of the little naughty things occurring behind the scenes, of people trying to scoop the cash register, fudge the figures, steal off some merchandise…

But sometimes his father would speak about the family that ran the corporation, describing each member of the Ogasawaras and their personalities, yet what interested Seiji the most was the only would-heiress to the empire, and his father told him stories about her.

Sachiko.

"_What kind of girl she is?" Seiji asked__ after Vincent said about Sachiko. Both father and son were at the dining table, almost done eating their takeout dinner of bento boxes from the local Lawson's._

"_Well," Vincent said as he shook his head, "Even if she's that beautiful, elsewhere they would've call her an ice queen, because she's silent and isn't interested in men. Why she can't? It's because her cousin also happens to be her… fiancé."_

_Seiji blinked__ twice. "What? That's odd."_

"_That's right," Vincent emphasized. "I know this because at one time I saw them together, but she didn't want to hold hands with him, as if trying to keep that guy away from her. You could tell people by the way of their body language, how they make faces, and how they speak, and in this case she hated her cousin."_

"_How she could cope with such a thing?"_

_Vincent thought of it, before he said, "As with rich people, I think she still has this will to have this grace under fire, to keep her reputation intact no matter how hard circumstance__s could be for people like her."_

_Seiji thought of something else. "Do you have a picture of her?"_

"_No," Vincent replied. _

"_Ah… never mind, Pops. I think I could find it."_

Seiji made a few clicks with his mouse and opened a picture he downloaded from the _Mainichi_ news website sometimes ago, showing Sachiko at some charity ball, stunningly beautiful and dressed elegantly in an empire-cut gown as she smiled for the camera.

The young man sighed for a moment, for a girl like Sachiko was a dream, attainable only by those who had the money, not to mention the looks, to court her.

But then Seiji tried not to think of the last breakup he had a week ago, when his girlfriend of about eight months dumped him, with a curt declaration that she was bored and expected her boy to be "exciting".

Disappointed, Seiji shrugged, and went back to _WoW_ by logging in once more.

* * *

"At that one time," Murasaki began, "your father, being so drunk, admitted that he had a quandary, a dilemma really, about having to deal with your mother and his mistress, and how much of a balancing act he had to do. I asked him why he drank too much, and he said that he felt that he failed being a father, and he was blaming himself for being so much of a screw-up… oops, pardon me."

"That's okay," Sachiko said. "I have little issue with gutter language, although still not easy for me to listen to."

The Prime Minister sighed and added, "I told him, 'Look, my friend. As much as you try to maintain that tradition of keeping a mistress, it's not going to work in the long run, for sooner or later those mistresses would be asking for more than you could provide, even if you're one of the richest men in Japan.' Then he said, 'If you're thinking about my daughter, seems that you could be right.'"

Sachiko nodded. "I see," she said. "So that's how he decided to change?"

"Yes. In a nutshell, he was terribly worried, what with having to do a juggling act between family, mistresses, and business, and the last thing he wanted was to die without having a sense of contentment. So he told me outright, that from there and now, he promised to come clean."

The would-heiress only produced a sad smile.

"By the way," Murasaki said. "I hope that someday, you'll understand much about how much your parents have done not just for you, but for other people."

Sachiko nodded. "I'll try, sir, but at least in the last year things became better for us, especially with my father's change of heart."

Pleased, Murasaki smiled. "I didn't know that, but that's a good sign. Too bad there's a lot more waiting for him, mostly good turns in the tides of your fortunes."

"I know; it's just it's indeed sad that he still had some unfinished business, which I may have to deal with once I graduate."

"You're taking up business administration?"

"Yes sir, at Lillian University."

"Sounds like things have changed somewhat in that school," Murasaki remarked, before he rose from his chair. "Well?"

"I think I felt better about you talking about my father," Sachiko said as she stood up.

"So do I," Murasaki replied as he checked his watch, before reaching into the pocket of his coat and brought out a calling card. "Here's my card," he said, holding it with both hands.

In the time-honored tradition of card-exchanging, except for Sachiko having no card of her own, the young woman received the card anyway, before they bowed deeply to each other.

"Thank you, sir," Sachiko said.

"Thank you, too, young lady," Murasaki replied. "I also hope you could get your bearings right after this, and I'll keep your parents in my thoughts tonight. Good night, Miss Ogasawara."

"Good night, Mister Murasaki," Sachiko said as she watched the man leave the room quietly. Only then she picked up her cup of tea and resumed drinking.

* * *

As Murasaki was about to exit the mansion, he found Munetaka coming towards him, along with his two aides, along with a lawyer carrying a briefcase.

"I have to go, Mister Munetaka," Murasaki said. "Guess the company can't wait at all, neh?"

"Yes, and how's your little chat with Miss Ogasawara?" Munetaka asked as he straightened his tie.

"It's personal, but it was all fine… At least we had some issues taken off our chests, and given her some assurances that we'll try to resolve the bombing case."

Munetaka grinned in approval. "Have a nice sleep, your Excellency."

Murasaki nodded. "Thanks," he said before walking off, waving his hand in the air before opening the door. "Still have much to work on the next morning."

* * *

As she put away her empty cup, Sachiko heard the knocking on the library door.

"Who is it?" she asked, before Liston swung open the door.

"It's Mister Munetaka, milady," Liston said as he ushered the interim CEO into the room, and provided the empty chair that Murasaki had earlier used, while the aides dutifully hovered from behind, before they exchanged introductions and small pleasantries before sitting down.

Afterwards the lawyer with the briefcase laid it down onto the coffee table, unsnapped the latches and then flipped it open. Munetaka asked for the folder containing the papers, and the aide provided it from the briefcase, before the executive opened the folder and presented the document to Sachiko.

"Let me explain about this, miss," Munetaka began. "But since I'm aware that you have little idea about how we operate, I shall simplify this matter to make it easier for you to understand."

"Thank you," Sachiko said.

"Now," Munetaka said. "These documents consist of a letter of authorization and an agreement, in which you, as the would-be designated sole heir to all holdings and properties of your family, which includes the company, would authorize me to operate the Ogasawara Group as an interim chief executive officer."

"For how long?" the young woman asked.

"I suppose that I should last until the stockholders call for a general meeting – which should be in the next two weeks - and then nominate new officers before making a consensus by vote."

Sachiko nodded. "I see."

"For now, as this is an emergency situation, I volunteer myself to take the lead in guiding this company at least even in a temporary role," Munetaka said, before he nodded to the aide to hand him a folder containing his curriculum vitae, and gave it to Sachiko for her to read.

"I humbly say that I have the operational experience necessary for the position, miss."

"Would you like some tea?" Sachiko offered, laying the folder down on the table.

"Green tea would be fine," Munetaka said. "Thank you."

"My pleasure," she said, before the young woman began read the lengthy dossier carefully. Hiroki Munetaka was fifty-five, a University of Tokyo graduate who hailed from Saitama Prefecture, then went on studying at Sorbonne, earning his MBA, before coming home to be hired in by the Group as a division chief. Slowly he ascended through the ranks; working in both home offices and in the field, before eventually he was chosen as a chief operating officer prior to the bombing.

In a nutshell and on paper, he seemed to be perfect: trusted, loyal and fit for the job. Sachiko then glanced at Munetaka as she returned the dossier.

"Can I see the letter and the agreement?" Sachiko asked.

Munetaka nodded as he presented the folder, with both hands, to the young woman. She then read the documents carefully, despite the man's earlier warning that the legalese may be too hard for her to grasp. Already the documents had the signatures of the board affixed, approving Munetaka's intention to lead the corporation. Satisfied, she returned the folder to Munetaka, who was waiting for any remark from her.

"I have finally understood your intentions, Mister Munetaka," Sachiko said. "As I have yet to attain qualification, experience and the necessary age to lead this company of ours, I have decided that, along with the approval of the board of directors, I authorize you to serve as the interim CEO for the time being until, as you have said before, the stockholders will gather for a general meeting, nominate and elect new officers."

Munetaka smiled, personally impressed with Sachiko's comprehension and authority. "Thank you, milady," he said, before offering to her a fountain pen. "Should the day comes that I must step down, I shall heed according to the words written on the documents," he promised.

Sachiko nodded, before the young woman, guided by Munetaka's lawyer, was instructed to sign the documents, before Munetaka added his counter-signature, and then that of the lawyer and the two aides present, who also serve as witnesses. Finished, the lawyer promptly returned the signed documents to its folder, and in turn placed the folder back to the briefcase.

At that point, they all stood up, and with Munetaka leading they all bowed deeply to Sachiko, who returned the favor.

'Thank you, Mister Munetaka," she said. "That was very noble and selfless of you."

"It's my duty to serve, even in times of crisis," Munetaka said. "There is no other higher calling for me. I shall take up this duty no matter how hard it would be, or as a heavy burden on my shoulders."

Only then Sachiko noted that the older man's eyes were welling with tears, and so she dutifully picked up a box of tissues from a side table and handed it over to him. As he daubed his eyes with a couple of sheets, inwardly the young woman was greatly moved by this man's passion to his work, and the will to do anything to keep the company afloat.

"Pardon me for expressing my gratitude towards your generosity," Munetaka said as he wiped the tears off his cheeks. "That is something very rare within your family."

"No, again I must thank you," Sachiko said before she smiled, and then she pinched the ducts to her eyes, trying not to cry. "You are free to go, Mister Munetaka. I believe that you need to be at home and get some sleep."

Again the men bowed deeply to Sachiko, and once they rose upright, Munetaka said, "I'll never forget this day, and your parents will be in my heart as always. Good night, Miss Ogasawara."

Sachiko nodded. "Good night and thank you once more, Mister Munetaka," she replied, before they quietly left the room. Once they left her alone, except for Liston waiting by the door, she then inquired, "Has Yumi or Touko left? I mean, Misses Fukuzawa and Matsudaira."

Liston shook his head. "Not yet, milady," the butler said. "They're still here."

"I just need to have a few words with them before they go home," Sachiko said as she stood up.

* * *

The next morning saw Sachiko, wearing a black dress, standing before the grave of her parents and her grandfather, decorated with wreaths of flowers, and she was among many other dignitaries who showed up to pay their final respects. They were all in a local cemetery not far from home, attended by a Catholic priest who presided over the funeral.

Flanking her were Yumi and Touko, both dressed in black, as they listened to the priest reciting final rites; behind them were their friends, classmates and families, with their mothers almost silently grieving, their fathers painfully thinking much of the memories; there were also some relatives, including Suguru, who stood by while wearing sunglasses; the employees and executives who attended likewise thought of the uncertainty they'll have to face tomorrow; and a select few who were friends of Toru, mostly government officials, other corporate leaders, and a top-ranking official of the National Police.

Tens of meters away, plainclothes security detail and cops patrolled and kept guard over the mourners, disallowing any reporters or strangers from trying to come closer; among those men standing alert was Vincent, as he used his binoculars to scan the surrounding area, and periodically radioed in his status while checking the rest of the security detail.

For once he paused and through his binoculars, the only expression of grief Sachiko that she able to show was the tears coming down her cheeks, before Yumi helpfully daubed them away with a handkerchief.

With the graves blessed, the priest intoned the antiphon "I am the Resurrection and the Life", after which the jars containing their cremated remains were lowered into the grave. The _Canticle Benedictus_ was then sung, before the antiphon was repeated once more, followed by the Lord's Prayer.

Taking the advice of others, including that of Yoko, Sachiko understood that no matter she would try to deny it, there was nothing she could do to prevent death or to reverse it; hysterics would do no good either, especially in public. Like most members of high society, she did her grieving with silent dignity and sobriety.

Instead, as she cried, the young woman leafed through the pages of her memory's photo album, afterimages impressed into her mind, of being with her parents in happier times, before she imagined they were back in the vacation home in the countryside.

Indeed, those days were gone, memories to live by.

What would matter more to Sachiko was to deal with the uncertainty of the future, and even in this state of sorrow she now focused her mind elsewhere, figuring out what she should be doing in the next few days, weeks, months, and even years; later tonight she would commit these to paper.

Only then she'll have to fight her own battles, thrust into the real world and having to stand on her own, learning as she went.

_I will not run away, _she promised in her thoughts, remembering the times she had to deal with the worst fears during her tenure in the _Yamayurikai_.

Once the jars were laid down carefully, the priest sprinkled them with holy water, mumbling as he performed his duty. Finally, after a brief response, the priest recited:

"_Grant this mercy, O Lord, we beseech Thee, to Thy servant departed, that he may not receive in punishment the requital of his deeds who in desire did keep Thy will, and as the true faith here united him to the company of the faithful, so may Thy mercy unite him above to the choirs of angels; Through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen."_

Afterwards the priest spoke of the final petition, "May his soul and the souls of all the faithful departed through the mercy of God rest in peace." Only then he and some of the Catholic-bred mourners made the sign of the cross, marking the end of the burial.

* * *

It was nightfall by the time most of the guests and her closest friends have left Sachiko's home, except for a few who remained for many reasons. One was the family attorney, Keiichi Mizuno, who was kept on retainer for years, and hence he was also Yoko's father; another was Vincent and his security team; finally there was Yumi and Touko, who, despite being asked to come home with their families, decided to stay on to provide Sachiko emotional support, as it was going to be the young woman's first night without her parents.

In an hour, Sachiko knew that Kashiwagi would be coming from Shinjuku after spending time with his lover, the bachelor having promised her earlier to pass by for a cup of tea and small talk before going home.

Right now the young women were at the living room, taking a rest from the day's exertions, sitting on the couch, when Mizuno came walking from the kitchen after partaking some coffee. The man carried a briefcase, which he placed on the coffee table, and then he said, "Pardon me, milady, but it's time for me to present to you your grandfather's last will and testament."

Sachiko nodded as Yumi and Touko watched the lawyer open the briefcase, brought out a single folder as he sat down opposite of the girls, and took a breath.

"To begin with, months ago your grandfather had the will changed," he said.

The would-heiress blinked. "What?"

"Actually, in addition to his rather interesting language, the contents of this will was also simplified for your benefit," Mizuno admitted, and then he opened the folder and began reading.

"'To my only granddaughter, Sachiko, dutiful and faithful, having proven herself by merit and character as a mature woman worthy of the Ogasawara family name, I am bequeathing to you _all_ of the family possessions and properties for your own use. You may see it fit how you use them, but you also have the options to divide, liquidate or dispose any of the assets if necessary and according to your needs.

'This includes the following major assets: our six leisure resorts, eight amusement parks, twelve malls and thirty of our department stores and supermarkets across Japan; some properties and lands in Honolulu, Hawaii; vacation houses in Okinawa and at Ogasawara Island; as well as the vacation house, the ancestral home in Nagano Prefecture, and this mansion;

'In addition to any minor assets, you are now in possession of 30% stake on our company, and in addition there are stocks, securities, bonds and other financial instruments made in the company name. You also now have numbered bank accounts deposited here, and in New York, London, Zurich, the Isle of Man, Liechtenstein, Bermuda, and Nassau. All are detailed in a list that's attached separately with this document. Furthermore, you also have full access to every document, legal or personal, most of which are in the vault at the penthouse in company headquarters, and the very important ones are in a personal safe at Japan Trust and Savings.

'All told, more or less, and of last count, according to our trusted accountants, these assets amount to the equivalent of _six billion_ US dollars. That said, once you turn _twenty_, you will be wholly responsible for it, you will be held liable for whatever happens to this largesse, and you will have to exercise full judgment on the use of these assets; should the government asks you to pay taxes for it, or any creditors inquiring you, they must be paid for, because every debt must be paid.

'Finally, it's also up to you to find a suitable suitor of your own choice, and were I'm still around and you finally find one, I shall hold no grudge against your wishes. As for your _soeurs_, however, Yumi Fukuzawa and Touko Matsudaira _deserve a partition of their own_, should they accept it, for they have proven themselves worthy, despite these young women are not related to us by blood, and for that I thank them for helping you grow up.

'From your grandfather, Harumi Ogasawara.'"

Mizuno looked to see that Yumi and Touko were both stunned, having been named in the will. Slowly they turned to Sachiko, who was just as flabbergasted as her _soeurs._

"Any questions?" the attorney asked as he set the folder aside, but he wondered what dilemma was taking place within Sachiko's mind; was she happy, elated, sad, doubtful, angry? By experience Keiichi Mizuno had come across a wide variety of heirs and heiresses, making their reactions known after listening. But with this young woman all he found on her face was complete incredulity.

"Yes," Sachiko said. "I find it unbelievable that Grandfather included two of my _soeurs._"

"Indeed, the last part was the _codicil_ he requested to be included," Mizuno said, before he went back to the folder containing the will, and presented to Sachiko the hand-written version of the will, along with the codicil; she could readily recognize his hand-writing.

"As he handed me over the codicil, he said that your companions deserve much," the lawyer added.

Inwardly the staggering, immense amount of wealth that was waiting for her hit the young woman so hard that it made her feeling light-headed; she could not imagine how much six billion American dollars looked like: was it gathered in a huge pile of bundled Benjamin Franklins, or was it an ocean of yen bills, or more likely kept neatly in a pair of oversized suitcases?

Prior to the tragedy, Sachiko received a monthly allowance equivalent to US$10,000, which was still a princely sum by Yumi's standards, but typical for a scion.

As for Touko, even a small fraction of that wealth was indeed more than the country hospital she stood to gain from her grandfather years from now, yet she was moved by the unusual gesture of generosity more than being temped by the riches waiting for her.

Yumi, on the other hand, found her head spinning; it was like she won the lottery, but without the usual outburst of joy and excitement. But then her conscience quickly took over and insisted that friendships were infinitely worth more than the inheritance.

"Six billion," Sachiko mumbled almost quietly as she returned the folder to the lawyer.

"You will have it all only if you turn twenty," Mizuno said. "That's the only precondition your grandfather has set, and, well, your birthday is only a few days away, right?"

Sachiko nodded.

"For now, I'm sure you have a personal bank account from which you could get your allowance to sustain you."

"Yes, I still do," the young woman said.

"Good," Mizuno approved. "You'll have to use that for now, as I may have to arrange with the in-house accountants to begin stocktaking of everything you have, first thing in the morning. You'll have to wait, of course, and considering the dire straits you're in, I insist that while waiting you need some down time to meditate and reflect, take a rest, or do something constructive before you return to your studies. Should I arrange it with your dean?"

"No, I'll talk to him instead," Sachiko replied.

The lawyer rose from his seat, prompting the young women to stand up as well, before he said, "By the way, should you need anything else or something to suggest or talk about in connection with the will, you can call me at anytime you wish. Do you still have my calling card?"

Sachiko nodded. "Yes."

Mizuno sighed in satisfaction. "Good," he said, and then they exchanged bows. "I will be back after your birthday, milady. Thank you and good night."

"Good night, attorney," the young woman said as they watched him leave the room. Once they were left alone, Sachiko sat down on the couch and sighed.

"I feel weird," Touko said. "I don't know whether I could laugh or cry."

"Me too," Yumi chimed.

"As Mister Mizuno said, I received a monthly allowance of 730,000 yen per month," Sachiko said. "It might be so much to you two, perhaps even too much, but I actually spend a fraction of that. I mean, I'm not a spendthrift and you know how I do."

Indeed, unlike her counterparts in the same economic class, mostly the noveau riche who tend to follow the dictates of Shibuya or Paris like crazy, snapping up designer labels, or buying anything without blinking an eye, Sachiko indulged herself in very simple pleasures, dressed conservatively or casually in the same manner as her _soeurs._ Despite being an owner of a genuine Maserati, most of the time she took the train, the bus or taxi to bring herself anywhere in the city.

But six billion dollars, or considering the rather unfavorable current exchange rate, _four hundred thirty-eight billion yen_, was still an insane amount, and Sachiko realized it would take much effort to effectively manage this fortune on her own. She was nobody's fool or spendthrift, and the young woman made a mental note that she would like to talk to the chief company accountant the next day. In fact, it dawned upon Sachiko that to deal with this wealth on a day-to-day basis would require the effort of many men and women, people she needed to gain their trust and to rely on, hence she'll have to draw on her _Yamayurikai _experiences on how to deal with people outside her circle.

Overall, Sachiko felt more like Atlas in which she'll have to bear the immense burden that was about to be foisted upon her shoulders, and more than ever the world suddenly became a difficult place, and therefore she was on her own now.

_Dear God,_ Sachiko mumbled that thought inwardly, not knowing that in the hours and the days to come she would be facing greater challenges – and dangers – coming out of nowhere, and the first feeling she gained was that of dizziness, caused by the overwhelming wealth and responsibility awaiting her.

_I'm not sure if I__'m indeed ready for all of that,_ she thought.

"Yumi, Touko," she finally said, breaking the silence. "I need to take a rest… I don't feel well."

* * *

Somewhere, at the other side of the city, one could hear metal striking metal, as magazines full of bullets were slotted into submachine gun wells, the slides of pistols clicking into place; one could smell cigarette smoke, a mixture of cologne and body odor, and the fragment of exhaust pipes; and one could feel the slight warmth of the van's heater as it circulated around and above the heads of the hard men dispatched to wreak havoc and kill, to leave nothing intact but embers and ashes.

And further out, in a tall building in a distant country, someone was waiting, eagerly anticipating for the news of the possible demise of Sachiko Ogasawara.

He was waiting for her to die, in exchange for the death of many of his kin.

* * *

**Author's Notes:** When writing a continuity fiction story, long after a book has concluded, it takes much to contemplate how the plot goes. Furthermore, it also requires me to get into the shoes of the characters and try to feel their five senses. Finally it takes much time and research; whereas my other work, _Light and Water_, delves into an alternate-universe Japan and thus allows for some changes in that setting, Nineteen deals with the real world, necessitating more detail to get as close as possible to walk the same corridors and breathe in the same air as our girls do.

I apologize that I have taken too long to provide a new chapter, but I'll try to update this story if possible, now that I decided to give _Light and Water_ a momentary "break" (before I would write its concluding season) and try to give this and another fic more time and attention.

Thank you.


	4. Home Invasion

_It__'s chilly out here tonight_, Vincent thought, despite wearing a trench coat and a sweater underneath. He still had the security of his special-license Glock 17 pistol tucked into the holster of his Galco Miami Classic harness, three spare magazines, the body armor wrapped around his body, and his belt carrying a small can of Mace and a stun gun. Even though Japan still held some of the lowest crime rates in the world, and thus literally a demilitarized zone, Vincent saw no reason to leave him and his security team having next to nothing in case they have to deal with a nuisance more nasty than a punk-ass vandal.

Oh, well, shortly before she went back to her bedroom with her Lillian _soeurs_, Sachiko told him that Suguru Kashiwagi would be coming at any moment, just to check on her before going back home. Vincent then passed the word to the rest of his team, and they got the message.

Now Vincent needed something to keep himself going, so he stuck his hand into one the pockets of his coat, found his pack of cigarettes – Marlboros in the familiar red-and-white flip-top pack and with the standard printed health admonition against smoking – and a lighter. Using his other hand as a shield against the wind, he lit up a stick and inhaled, before expelling a cloud of smoke that was quickly blown away into the darkness.

One of his younger men came up to him and said, "Seems normal, sir."

"Yeah," Vincent agreed. "No surprises, Fujieda. Too damn quiet."

Fujieda pulled out his own cigarette and put it to his lips. "Uh, sir, you got a light? My lighter screwed up on me."

"Sure." Vincent obliged him with the lighter, before returning it to his pocket.

"Thanks, sir," Fujieda said, before he inhaled. "Now I know why Mizuno came to visit: must be the old man's last will and testament."

Vincent nodded. "Ah."

"Always happens just like that," Fujieda said, before he sucked onto his cigarette. "Just like anywhere in the world: lawyers coming in after the burial to present the will… Yet I'm also sure the Princess now has the whole works, no, I mean, her inheritance." Fujieda then blew out his own cloud of spent tobacco; as for the title "Princess" or _Ojo-sama,_ it was the in-house security men's choice of nickname for Sachiko when, of course, she's not around them.

"Don't worry, I'm sure we'll be getting our paychecks," Vincent said. "They're always generous."

"But I'm not quite sure as for those working in the stores, the ones with the smaller take-home pay," the younger man said. "I have a sister working in one of their supermarkets."

"What's her job?"

"A cashier on the checkout lane, instead of becoming an accountant like my old man once used to be, and she's one of the lucky ones. Several of my classmates aren't doing any better, however; they graduated from the best universities in the country, and yet even after ten damn years they still can't find a _full-time _job."

"And they're asking you for any vacancies?"

"Yeah, sir," Fujieda answered. "They're getting desperate, and one of them is spending too much time bunking in an Internet café, and another with her parents."

Vincent nodded. "I see… I'll ask Maezono in HRD tomorrow morning, as soon as I get back to HQ; I'll see what I could do, okay?"

Fujieda grinned. "Thanks, sir," he said before walking back to his assigned patrol.

Vincent returned to his musings, and he remembered that Japan was still suffering from its own economic setbacks, what with six prime ministers having taken office and then left within the space of six years, much to the chagrin of the average, politically-disillusioned citizen.

To be honest, local politics was nothing more than the 'old boys' club', with mostly men in their fifties and up, and interested only in power and maintaining the status quo, but having a few ideas on what was best for the country, especially when dealing with economic problems, which made local politicians no different from their counterparts elsewhere.

Worse, this 'club' locked out most of those really asking for genuine change, especially the younger generations who have become disenfranchised by the two political parties, somewhat clones of each other due to the large number of 'old boys' in the ranks.

Vincent sighed, and he thought, _if only they could just lower the voting age, and then allow for younger, yet more dynamic candidates, then we could turn this country around._

_But with that kind of sea change not yet happening, how long we could believe any further in those same-old-shit politicians, talking about change and then screwing themselves up till they resign? How long?_

Vincent then took one last drag of his cigarette, before dropping it to the tarmac and crushing the butt with his heel. He looked up at the façade of the mansion, and noted the single window on the third floor still lighted up; that would be Sachiko, probably spending her waking time left before sleeping, probably reading a book, writing something or worrying or whatever ladies of her age were doing.

In any case, he hoped the Princess and her wards should get some fitful sleep tonight to face a new day, while at the same time he dimly remembered and then paraphrased the nice quote that he knew was _mistakenly_ attributed to George Orwell, the author of _Animal Farm: men are prepared to do violence on behalf of people sleeping in peace._

Now Vincent thought of going in and get himself some coffee, and then small talk with Sean Liston the butler.

* * *

MARIA-SAMA GA MITERU: **NINETEEN  
Chapter 4: HOME INVASION  
**Written by soulassassin547  
9/5/2011 1:43 a9/p9

* * *

It was almost always like this, whenever she felt distressed or tired. True, she had some quarterly visits to the family doctor, who then pronounced her fit as fiddle but advised her not to exert herself psychologically.

But it became a habit for Sachiko to retreat back to her bedroom and shut the world out for a while. Considering today's burial and yesterday's funeral, she was really tired, physically and emotionally drained.

Right now and on her four-poster bed, her head was cushioned by pillows, and she tried to relax.

Six billion dollars, and very overwhelming for her mind to grasp compared to the weekly allowance she had. Sachiko then wondered if there were other people who wished for such a stupendous amount of money, and there were many, for a lot of reasons: for power, for turning hell into heaven, for the sake of helping others…

Or for revenge.

Why not?

It's not impossible that wealth can be used for the sake of revenge, for she dimly remembered watching a movie on satellite TV, a film adaptation of Alexandre Dumas' _The Count of Monte Cristo._

But to whom she should make vengeance against? An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth, just like what the Old Testament said?

Nobody.

All Sachiko knew that their family had known no enemies; their business competitors were friendly adversaries but hardly cut-throat and mercenary in their dealings; within the strata of high society there were those noveau-riche families who sought to acquire even a hint of aristocratic status to equal and maybe exceed that of Sachiko's family, but never dared to go this far to resort to murder, an archaic, feudal-age measure best relegated to the history books, when power-hungry warlordssent soldiers to do battle against other houses, or ninjas to assassinate key figureheads.

Ah, it was too easy and convenient to blame terrorists for almost every violent incident, a faceless scapegoat and an excuse for lackadaisical state security, because most of the time they could get away with it, and they knew it. But as the Prime Minister told her, it looked odd that a terrorist group, based in troubled Afghanistan, should be interested in scaring the Japanese by blowing up a plane.

Sachiko shook her head. _I don't know if my grandfather had any enemies in the past, for all I believe is that he and great-Grandfather was hardly involved in the war effort, or so he told me._

The young woman sighed. _So it's the usual suspects; who did it and who ordered it, I don't know, because they always hide behind those rags, and the combination of their guns and anonymity are their sources of power._

She then closed her eyes and asked aloud, "Is he coming yet?"

Yumi and Touko, both reading her novels from the shelves of her private library, were interrupted. The latter went up to the window, parted the curtains and looked down at the driveway outside the mansion. "Not yet. He hasn't called either," she said, referring to the bedside telephone.

"I'm not surprised," Sachiko said. "Sometimes, he's like that, taking care of his business first."

"What business?" Yumi asked.

Sachiko made a rather unladylike face. "As always, you don't really want to know," she replied, knowing it would be distasteful should she tell the girls outright about Kashiwagi's personal affairs.

Yumi nodded. "Okay," she said, not wanting to stick her nose into her _onee-sama's_ secrets either, being the holy of holies, lest Sachiko wished to divulge more.

Feeling a bit better than dizzy, Sachiko now propped herself to sit upright, and then noticed what the two girls were reading, while sitting cross-legged on the carpet: one book from Banana Yoshimoto, and another from Kazuo Ishiguro, both contemporary authors. The young woman also glanced at the little clock by the bedside, and told her it was past nine.

"Oh," she said. "Are you reading it for your assignment?"

Touko shook her head. "No," she replied, holding the copy of _Never Let Me Go _in both hands. "I really like this; it's almost like reading a book about Lillian, except this one's set in England."

'Thanks," Sachiko said, appreciating the compliment. "I'm glad that you're really enjoying it. I brought that a week ago."

Suddenly Touko snapped her fingers, eyes wide open. "I have an idea! I'll have this for my next book report!" she exclaimed.

"When?" Yumi asked, looking surprised by her _soeur's_ outburst.

"Could be in a couple of weeks, I suppose."

"Ah."

"_Onee-san, _can I borrow this?" Touko asked.

Sachiko nodded. "Sure," she said, before she lay down, yawned and closed her eyes. "It's okay if you want to spend the rest of the night wide-awake, or go sleep alongside me," she added, and then smiled.

* * *

Meanwhile and on one of Tokyo's major elevated expressways, Suguru Kashiwagi was behind the wheel of his car, a fire-engine red Mercedes-Benz SLK 200 convertible, speeding on his way to the mansion. The superbly-styled car with its powerful engine was a welcome change to the otherwise straight-laced, conservative Maserati he had for three years, as he was getting used to the new coupe's comfortable charms.

Despite the tragedy that beset his relatives, he was otherwise happy and contented with his new status in life, doing his trade operating two clubs in Harajuku as a part-time part-owner, one for the usual crowd, and the other catering to homosexuals, both with great food and drink, great DJs and party music, and a wide variety of interesting customers (but please, no recreational drugs such as Ecstasy in the premises; he banned them, along with smuggled marijuana tokes, to maintain his clubs' spotless reputation, and in this city, reputation was considered priceless).

As such, he understood the dangers of his lifestyle, of course, necessitating careful checks on his would-be partner before he went in, and oh, he was very careful about his reputation in the eyes of the public, avoiding media scrutiny as much as possible.

Indeed, the greater danger, Suguru believed, came from the tabloid-style news programs and the scandal sheets; they were like sharks, going after anything that bled in the water, and then ripping the victim to shreds. He knew of one notorious example currently being paraded on those programs, the case of a famous (or shall we say, infamous) _seiyuu-idol_ who, apart from her bikini top error in a gravure book, and then her bulimia tendencies, reportedly had a bunch of mobile phone camera shots, of her sexual affairs with a rock star, posted on the Internet.

Suguru shook his head. _What an idiot,_ he reflected_. Celebrities are supposed to use the media as a weapon, instead of letting the media use them the other way around. _Knowing this, Suguru made it clear that it was company policy for his clubs to protect the identities of his clientele by barring those with the intent to take pictures, especially the damned _paparazzi_. Hence the big-name Western celebrities, visitors to Tokyo and knowing of his joints, had to be taken to the clubs through the back door, enjoy themselves for a few hours in a private booth or room, before leaving in the same way.

However, as much as he loved the lively world he now thrived in, there are things and people he could not leave or forget, and that includes Sachiko, now more of a friend than fiancée, and he avowed that there will be no misgivings should the young woman finds a man (or perhaps another _woman_?) of her choice.

For a moment, Suguru glanced at the rear-view mirror, and he thought he was being followed by a van… or perhaps even a queue of vans, before focusing back again on the road, and found the exit ramp.

He then turned left, heading to Musashino district, but he checked the mirror again, this time no one was tailing him, which prompted Suguru to sigh in relief.

_Damn, __I must be seeing things,_ he reflected sourly.

* * *

In the largest hangar in Sapporo International Airport, the wreckage of the ill-fated airliner was being reassembled, piece by piece on a huge metal scaffold, and every hour the _Jietai_ CH-47 Chinook helicopters brought in the pieces, hanging from the fuselage with steel cables.

Under the glaring lights, teams of local forensics experts, aerospace engineers, as well as American NTSB and FBI agents went about cataloguing, recording and then affixing the fragments on the scaffold. It was a grim task, but necessary to understand how and why the plane was destroyed.

The man responsible for the overall task force was Toji Chiba, a highly-trained mechanical engineer who served in the Ministry of Transportation for almost two decades, and right now he had the Prime Minister on the phone, asking several questions.

Already Chiba told Murasaki that the MSDF submersible still haven't found the orange-colored black boxes, both of them known more precisely as the Flight Data Recorder and the Cockpit Voice Recorder, and searching them alone was maddening – the estimated debris field was several square kilometers in size, and the early winter conditions, along with the ocean currents and underwater visibility, were making their work difficult. But this was nothing compared to the inexplicable demise of an Air France jetliner which went off the radar as it left Brazil, and it took a couple of years for a submersible to locate the black boxes on the Atlantic Ocean floor.

Over the phone Chiba could hear the man's sigh of frustration, before speaking again.

"Whoever planned this must be a genius," Murasaki said. "How long do you think it's going to take to put that plane back together?"

"Could take us a month or three," Chiba said, mentally calculating his estimates. "The final report might take a year to complete, and at this moment we're questioning the witnesses."

"I see. Now, is there anything else of significance?"

"First, sir, we can rule out the weather: excellent visibility, no clouds for a hundred kilometers around the plane, no wind shear or turbulence or any other phenomena. Second, the pilots were in perfect health, are very competent and experienced, with no skeletons in their closets. Third, the plane's practically brand new, lots of post-9/11 safety features, with a few thousand hours logged in ever since it left the factory. Finally, there's no military aircraft or even long-range air-to-air missiles in the vicinity at the time of the explosion; the _Jietai, _the US military and civilian radar operators all told us that, barring the usual transport activity, there were no military operations or exercises on that day, and as a rule they do not carry any _live_ missiles during practice.

"This, therefore, isn't TWA Flight 800," Chiba concluded. He was referring to the tragic destruction of the TWA airliner that exploded in mid-air several years ago, off Long Island, New York; it was attributed to a combination of an electrical spark from the faulty wiring and aviation fuel vapors, but conspiracy theorists vociferously claimed that a rogue anti-aircraft missile was responsible for the tragedy.

"And so, Mister Chiba, where should we be concentrating our efforts?"

"Good question, sir," Chiba said. "Right now, we got some of our men checking the on-the-ground personnel lists at Narita. There's the possibility that someone or a bunch of no-faces were on the inside, smuggling the bombs inside the premises and then loading them up on the plane."

"Sabotage," Murasaki said. "There's no doubt about it."

"But then, sir, there's something fishy about the Ten Rings' claim, and coming from me, you'll think it's a very long shot."

"What is it?"

"If they were really angry with us or dared even the world, they would've loaded every plane with bombs, and then blow all of them up in the sky. But… this is just one airliner, and except for the Ogasawaras, there's nobody else significant on that flight."

There was a pause for a minute, as if Murasaki was thinking.

"Sir, are you there?" Chiba said.

"I'm still here," the prime minister replied. "Now that there's a bunch of insiders responsible for this damned tragedy, I want you and your men to double-check the personnel rosters, question the ground crew, and if you find anything unusual or run into trouble or get entangled in red tape, call me."

Chiba nodded. "Will do, sir."

* * *

As her younger _soeurs_ were reading their books on the rug, Sachiko's eyes were drawn to the elongated black nylon bag, leaning by the hat stand, which contained her traditional_ kyudo_ bow and a quiver of arrows; the asymmetrical bow was made of carbon fiber composite, custom-designed according to her needs, including draw weight (hers had a very light draw, an almost effortless 13.5 kilograms of pull) and size; it was a long way from the time when the wooden _kyudo _ bow required the expertise of a true craftsman, who would shape, bend, smoothen and then treat the bow until it possessed the proper amount of flexibility and durability. Furthermore, even in its modern incarnation the 21st-century _kyudo _bow demanded her care and attention, as its maintenance and use were no joking matter; it was a delicate instrument in itself but _never_ to be referred to as a military weapon.

She knew all this because, after graduating from high school and upon entering college, Sachiko took up traditional archery – _kyudo_ – on Rei Hasekura's wise suggestion, who was concerned about the former's lack of interest in other sports or martial arts. It was also coincidental that, somewhere along the line in the past, a branch of the Ogasawara family was partly responsible for the creation and development of ceremonial _kyudo, _so in effect Sachiko was carrying on an age-old tradition, except she was really practicing the popular Honda School style, which combined the warrior (of the Heki School, the originators of _kyujutsu_ military archery) and ceremonial elements_._

_Kyudo_, being one of the oldest forms of traditional Japanese martial arts, heavily influenced by _Zen_, emphasizing spirit, purity and concentration, turned out to be more suited to her personality and lifestyle. There she could, after classes, come down to the dojo on the Lillian school grounds, warm up and then practice, thereby exercising her body and mind. In addition, _kyudo _practitioners need not to compete, at least in Rei's opinion and some experts, as it was less of a sport but more of a way of keeping in touch with the spirits of nature and being attuned to energies surrounding the archer.

Because _kyudo _sessions were done in an enclosed dojo, with the practice yard bounded by tall walls and well-shaded, there was little from the outside world to disturb or inhibit her practicing and concentration, further adding to the meditative properties of the martial art.

As Sachiko practiced, there was something very wonderful about the sensation of letting go of the world around her, and instead totally devoting all her energies into every step of posing, loading, aiming and firing (there are eight steps to go through), as if the martial art itself was an effective holy meditation in itself, demanding slow, fluid, careful and graceful movements while standing, almost much in the same way she used to practice ballet on her spare time when she was younger, but with much less strain on her toes.

Anyway, if she could make it through this week, Sachiko thought, she would then resume her sessions, as she recalled that last week in the dojo, her instructor noted her improving technique and remarkable progress for even a very short time.

Suddenly her reverie was broken with Kashiwagi honking as his car came to a stop on the driveway. Yumi and Touko got up on their feet and, looking through the window and recognizing the Mercedes right away, the former said, "It's Kashiwagi."

* * *

A moment later they were in the sitting room, sitting on couches. Sachiko was flanked on either side by Yumi and Touko, while Suguru was sitting on the opposite couch. Although their fresh cups of tea were on the coffee table, they were untouched.

"Sorry if I was a bit late," Suguru said. "Some last-minute hitch in my business."

Sachiko nodded. "I see. Have you eaten?"

"Yes, I had a little dinner before I left," he replied. "Anyhow, I'm surprised you're coping well."

"I have to," Sachiko replied. "But I'm not sure if I could get back to school."

"Why?"

The young woman looked wary. "I need time to recover… Yet for how long, I don't know. Maybe in a week, I guess."

_What else I could __say? _Sachiko thought. _Almost nothing except the burial, the reception thereafter, where we talked about them and how and why, reminiscing the past and wondered about the what-ifs and would-haves that were left unfulfilled._

"What are you going to do with your life, then?" Suguru asked.

"Now that's one question that I have to try to answer," Sachiko said. "Here I am, wondering what would happen on the first thing I wake up tomorrow. Maybe my old routine before all this happened, maybe not."

"I'm sure Attorney Mizuno has already told you about the inheritance, right?"

Sachiko blinked; the cat was now out of the bag.

"Y… Yes," Sachiko confirmed. "He recited the will to us an hour ago, and I know what to do with it: go tell the chief accountant to sort it out, tell me how to manage it because I'm not the kind who would waste this inheritance, and remind me where to make the most of it."

Suguru sighed. "I'm sorry, _Sa-chan,_" he said, using the affectionate nickname he made for her ever since elementary school days. "I mentioned it to see if we could talk about it, but don't worry, I have my own sizeable fortune to worry about... and I'm not a man after your own because I'm happy and contented with what I have and what I'm earning from working on what I love."

Sachiko gave him a sad smile. "Good for you."

"How much you're worth right now?"

"Six billion American dollars," Sachiko replied, "more or less, depending on the exchange rate."

"And Munetaka's the CEO right now, correct?"

"Yes, I personally signed his papers last night, and at the moment he's running the whole company in my name, and he gave me assurances that he's willing to keep the status quo. Personally, he's a good man, very loyal and hardworking, or so his personal information tells me."

Suguru nodded. "I see," he said, but then concentrated his gaze at the younger girls. "What about you two?"

Both Touko and Yumi had a double-take, caught unawares.

"Uh… We're just reading books," Yumi said.

"Didn't have much to do," Touko added, "although we're really preparing for school tomorrow, and I'm writing up a book report."

Suguru checked his watch; tonight was Sunday, and come tomorrow would be the usual routine. He then smiled, picked up his still-warm cup of tea and took a sip. _Not bad,_ he thought of the tea's flavor, which was surprisingly refreshing, and then remembered the last time he tasted it. _Orange pekoe from Claridge's… That was London, about four years ago._

"Let's drink this while it's still hot," he cordially said. "It would be a waste if we let this tea go cold on us."

The rest of his companions followed suit, imbibing the tea, and the next few minutes they openly talked about school, the books they read, and the TV shows they watched. Sometimes they would discuss past, cheerful experiences, like the time they had a great time at Tokyo DisneySea, or the two intimate days at Hakone.

* * *

Meanwhile, in the spacious kitchen and over the counter, Vincent was having a lively conversation with Sean Liston, the British butler, both sitting on stools and drinking black coffee from mugs spiked with Sambuca; it was to the relief of the latter, him being a long way from Liverpool, that he was able to speak Queen's English freely with a _Nisei_ who talks with a genuine Hawaiian Yank tongue; the former commando appreciated the excellent flavor of his java, and asked where the Brit sourced his coffee beans.

"Indonesia," Liston said. "The real deal. Quite potent after a hard day's night of boozing, and I swear it could even wake up the dead."

Vincent laughed. "Well, this could compare to the coffee I had once while assigned on the _Kitty Hawk_. I mean, out to sea, there was a different brand almost every day, shipped in by the cargo planes landing on the flight deck; one day we got Maxwell House, next day it was Folgers', and the day after that some weird brew sourced from a cache of a hundred-year-old beans found in the chest of a shipwreck, mixed in with rat turd."

This time both men laughed louder.

"Seriously, Vince," Liston said. "When would you be able to end your widower status?"

"Not sure," Vincent answered. "But I'm trying to get this lady ten years younger interested in me, and she's at the head office… Shit, I'm not really sure right now, what with some of my hair turning white and the hairline receding." He then made a face.

Liston nodded. "Happens to all of us."

"Yeah."

"Who's the girl?"

"Kobayakawa," Vince said. "First name Rieko. Nice figure. Cute face." He then sighed and added, "She's Munetaka's secretary. I checked her out on the sly, and so far, no skeletons in her closet."

Liston whistled. "C'mon, she sounds like great catch."

Vincent smiled. "I'll try, but I have other options just in case."

"Like who?"

"There's this teacher down at the naval base, you know, at Yokosuka. Been teaching to the kids at Niles Kinnick for ten years now, a _Nisei_ like me but single, and she happens to be my next-door neighbor whenever I come down home there outside the fence."

"Oh. What does she look like?"

"She's basically nice," Vincent said, "about forty, a bit thin, down-to-earth, wearing those horn-rimmed geek eyeglasses just like Lisa Loeb, and sometimes we would trade whatever we cook up in the kitchen. One time she told me she was from San Francisco, a Stanford graduate with a master's degree in education." He then recalled scenes where he would cross paths with this woman and engage in some small talk: while shopping for American groceries (and Seiji's PX junk food, dirt-cheap but sinfully delicious by Japanese standards) at the Navy Exchange supermarket inside the base, using his retiree's privilege card; sometimes on the pathway leading to his home, or he would run into her at the local shopping district, just off the _Honcho, _some hundred meters away from the main gate.

"Name?"

Vincent chuckled. "Sheryl Nomura," he said. "Maybe after this, I'll try to see if I could just get her to a date, and then—"

But then Vincent felt a strange sensation in his chest, and he grimaced.

Liston blinked. "What's wrong?"

"Heartburn, I think," Vincent said as he put down his mug, but inwardly he sensed an omen of something unpleasant could happen tonight; he had that same thing during the times he was on active duty, in the darkness, his assault rifle on both hands. More precisely, he had a gut feel as if an ambush was about to be sprung on him and his squad, while diddly-bopping under the Iraqi night, trying to find Saddam and his minions through night-vision goggles.

"You got some antacids?"

Liston nodded. "Sure," he said. "I have them in the medicine cabinet. Tums, just like you Yanks use; I bought them at a supermarket for expats in downtown Shinjuku."

As the butler went to the medicine cabinet, affixed near the counter and placed where meats were usually cut up on the butcher's block, Vincent felt for his Glock, to see if it was there and ready, along with the magazines that came with it.

He could feel the bulge on his side. _Good,_ he thought.

Just then Liston came back with the bottle of Tums. "Here," he said, and Vincent took two tablets and munched them.

"Thanks," Vincent said. "I have to check on the girls now."

Liston blinked. "Why?"

"Something's up tonight, and I don't like the feel of it," Vincent said ominously as he went out of the kitchen.

* * *

As she listened to her _soeurs_ banter with Suguru, Sachiko had run out of ideas of what else she could broach over the coffee table. Instead she was deep in her thoughts, trying to figure out how to make the best of her new life.

Maybe Yumi could be right about the idea of moving over to her home, and then her parents would provide her a nice room, no, maybe bunk together with Yumi; as for this mansion, Sachiko entertained the idea of turning a part of it into an orphanage operated by some of the sisters from Lillian's convent.

_Not bad_, she thought. _Perhaps it could work_.

Sachiko then guessed it would not surprise her should the Lillian alumnus come up with the idea of renaming one of the school buildings after her mother, or that Hanadera would do the same for her father and grandfather. Just maybe.

But for now, well, the young woman figured that come next day, she have to get herself reacquainted with her home, and then learn every cranny and nook, remember the name of every servant who sometimes brought up her breakfast to bed, or washed her clothes, or fixed her bed.

Oh, she would ask Liston and the cooks to teach her how to cook and maybe bake, just like her mom once did by making some millefeuille; then ask one of the maids to tutor her on how to use the washing machine and the dryer, understand the mechanics and the subtleties of laundry. What she could learn from them might help her someday, when the day she makes the judgment call to start finding a suitable husband.

What, a _husband_?

Now that brought her to that question: whom she should marry? What kind of man she really wanted? No, she wasn't sure, and considering her close call with Kashiwagi, Sachiko felt she hardly had much of decision-making as far as men were concerned, for her previous understanding about the opposite sex was based on harsh experience, misconception and extreme prejudice, prior to her chance meeting with Yumi.

Maybe she would try to ask somebody, a woman who knew more and sensible enough to understand men, and could teach her a few tricks. Sure, there were a ton of self-help books on the subject, but experience and first-hand information could be better when seeking for the mythical Mister Right.

Sachiko sighed. She knew that almost anyone would call her a princess, an _ojo-sama,_ imbued with some aristocratic blood, and surely those people would conjure the image of the damsel in distress, waiting for the prince who would rescue her, but she was not the kind of damsel, and she was _no_ damsel; she was herself, flesh and blood, brains and heart, determined not to look helpless in the face of some calamity, determined to stand up for her own, and of course, avowed not to run away.

That meant for her to learn more about what it takes to grow up, to understand the world around her, or in Yoko's words, deal with harsh reality. For starters, book-keeping, boring and tedious it may look to most, would be a really useful subject to learn on how money is used, earned, spent, saved, and why it was necessary to keep track of every yen she held.

Now if she could manage her personal allowance, a humble sum by her standards, it would not be impossible to manage the six billion left for her in various forms. This leaves another factor: managing people.

In order to be an effective manager, one must have full knowledge of the people under his or her command, knowing each of their strengths and weaknesses, putting emphasis on the former while strengthening the latter; one must be able to communicate effectively as a leader and diplomat, using the right language and personality, applying the proper temperament on any occasion, the courage to lead, the ability to decide, and of course, possessing vision and foreknowledge while maintaining caution and common sense.

Now if she was able to lead the _Yamayurikai_ successfully_,_ then a household full of servants would be no different, before moving on later to corporate circles; she must put her right foot in the door, put on her best game face, and think on her feet.

So there, the subjects that Sachiko was studying diligently would soon be of practical use, combined with experience, and tempered with expertise… yet she would neither be the ice queen she once used to be, nor she would yield in exchange for a _bon vivant_ personality; she will be herself, and then—

_Wait,_ Sachiko was blinking, _what's Mister Hayashida doing here, barging in without warning?_ With neurons firing away, her brain rapidly made up and arranged her words, then presenting a small list of interrogative sentences she would pick depending on the occasion or the mood, before she asked, "Is there a problem?"

Vincent stood before them, her other companions pausing for the moment in this tableau. "Yes," he answered.

Sachiko frowned. "What is it?" she questioned.

The next few seconds would soon alter the rest of her life, or for that matter, of the lives of everyone present in this sitting room.

* * *

Two of the security men were twitching in their last death spasms, after they were expertly shot in the forehead by masked men in black jackets and jeans; the two dozen invaders had already climbed up and jumped over the steel fence, but not before they were spotted by the hapless guards, who were all too late to respond, making them the receiving end of nine-millimeter subsonic bullets from a pair of suppressed Taurus pistols, well-crafted copies of the Beretta 92F guns.

The invaders moved on almost quietly, darting across the expanse of the well-manicured lawn, past and through the bushes and hedges, past under the trees and over the flower beds, and the occasional scaled-down reproductions of _Venus de Milo, Three Graces_ or _Winged Victory, _mounted on Cararra marble columns_._

Whatever opposition they encountered on their way, they did so by putting them out permanently with their knives to the ribcage or over the bared throat. The invaders had to make it quick enough before the occupants of the mansion could raise an alarm, and already at least four in their team cut away the telephone lines or electronically jammed the wireless cameras and sensors.

Earlier, while planning for their mission, they considered about using a stolen dump truck to ram the main gate leading to the Ogasawara estate for shock effect, but the idea was then vetoed, as the map of the neighborhood and the streets showed otherwise. Other fanciful ideas were floated around the table, such as trying to play pizza delivery boy with a misplaced order, or blowing off the gates, or landing in by helicopter.

But their leader shook his head, and instead brought out the pictures of their intended target and plastered them on the whiteboard. Shoot them down, their leader commanded; shoot down any witnesses and leave no one else alive; anyone who kills the heiress' companions will get a quarter-million, and a hundred thousand for every one of the lackeys, but Sachiko Ogasawara must be captured _alive and unharmed_.

Now they have surrounded the mansion, every exit point blocked, and they began sticking shaped charges to the window frames, preparing for the dynamic entry into the house.

While some of them held the command clackers wired to the detonators for the _plastique, _or toting flash-bang grenades to be thrown in, the other invaders checked their watches, synchronized to the last second. Then five, four, three, two, one—

* * *

Facing a cluster of video monitors, Hirohiko Saeba was manning the surveillance room just near the kitchen when he saw something unusual onscreen, on Camera 6: two of his comrades patrolling the perimeter paused for a moment, as if surprised, and then collapsed to the ground, before the screen turned to static, followed on with the remaining cameras going offline.

Alarmed, as though being administered an electrical shock, he then consulted the bank of indicators on his computer that were supposed to show a response from any of the one hundred or so motion sensors placed across the grounds... and they showed _nothing!_

_The fuck __is going on?_ Saeba raged.

Saeba then grabbed his handheld Icom radio on the desk, and pressed his thumb hard to the Talk button; he hoped they would hear him.

"WE HAVE AN INTRUDER!" he yelled, a second before he heard the singular, deafening explosion.

* * *

Fujieda was taking a leak in the toilet, the bathroom tucked away from the living room, when he heard the call on the radio. The young man promptly pressed his earpiece with his finger, and as he rushed out into the hallway, almost shutting back his pants' zipper, he demanded, "Where the hell are they?"

And before he could hear a reply, the window to his right was instantly demolished, peppering his arm and chest with shrapnel, and in that moment Fujieda was rendered deaf, a maddening ringing in his ears, and a searing pain. Almost staggering on his feet, completely incapacitated and bleeding, he turned around to find the source of the explosion and who set it off, but was too late as he came face-to-face with the ski-masked man crashing through the blasted window, who then stitched his chest with a dozen rounds from a Skorpion machine pistol.

Fujieda slammed sideways to the floor, and the final gaze he had was the carpet on his cheek, the coppery taste in his mouth, before the light in his eyes were snuffed out, the last sight being of the invader's boots stomping on the hand-made vintage Persian carpet.

Before his heart stopped, Fujieda's regret was not being able to come for his sister's wedding, due next week.

* * *

Liston still held his coffee mug, now a quarter full, waiting for Vincent to come back when the blast nearly knocked him off his perch, smashing his mug on the floor in the process.

"Bloody fucking hell," he cursed in English while getting up to his feet.

Instinctively he wondered where the shotgun was stowed, but then he realized there was _none_, as Japan wasn't England where he could have immediate access, say, to a specially-licensed 12-gauge over-and-under Benelli fowling piece and a boxful of double-naught Brenneke shells under the counter, just as one of his previous employers, the Duchess of York, once provided as a last-ditch security measure.

Instead, from the counter he picked up the next best weapon he could use: a stainless steel Zwingli kitchen knife in its scabbard, for use when quartering sirloin steak; he tucked the knife in the back of his pants.

"I'M COMING!" Liston then yelled in his native tongue, as he rushed out of the kitchen, to hunt down where the invaders have made a hostile beachhead on his current employer's cliffs of Dover; he could then get lucky and then be able to hold a real gun in his hands.

* * *

In the sitting room, all five of them were stunned by the loud blast, their ears ringing as if they were struck with a two-by-four piece of wood. But Vincent, accustomed to mortar explosions during his prime, his battlefield instincts quickly took over: he unholstered the Glock and then yelled, "GET DOWN!"

Almost like in the same way as they did when practicing the all-important earthquake drill, the rest dropped prone to the carpet, expecting for the worst.

As the sitting room was a chamber connected to the living room, the dining room, the library, and the grand staircase by doors, Tsutomo locked them one by one except for the last door leading to the staircase.

Then the door to the living room was being kicked, and Tsutomo had to find some way to delay the bastards; his eyes scanned for anything useful, but finding none, he pulled the pistol's slide, aimed and fired a two-shot burst through the door.

He was rewarded with a cry on the other side, but Vincent didn't want all of them to remain here for another minute like sitting ducks, or they could be overrun by who the hell they were.

"Go upstairs!" he commanded, "Third floor, and up there I think there's a fire exit at the end of the hallway!"

"Okay," Suguru said, and he pulled Sachiko by the wrist, before Yumi and Touko followed suit, getting up on their feet. The young man then kicked the door to the staircase, and all four of them ran through.

* * *

And Liston did: an unsuspecting masked attacker burst through the door, at the end of the hallway, not expecting Liston, and the Brit stabbed him right through the chest, causing the invader to drop the Ingram MAC-10 he was brandishing.

The bloody bastard was dead, sprawled all over the carpet; the Zwingli knife still stuck on the chest. Liston quickly frisked the dead man, found a Taurus pistol tucked behind, picked up both weapons and the magazine pouch the invader had around the neck, and ran towards the sitting room.

While on his way, he glanced at the Ingram; it was unlike anything else he had in his hands before, back when he was a lance corporal assigned to the red-beret Paras, dropped into Afghanistan by plane, and of course he'd made kills in his tour of duty, and often they confiscated a lot of loose Kalashnikovs.

The suppressed weapon was more of a drug dealers' piece suited to _Miami Vice _reruns, but movie piece or not, this thing in his hands will kill, and spotting the girls chased out of the sitting room, Liston shouted, "HEY, WAIT!"

* * *

Just then Vincent saw Liston running through the hallway, yelling at them, a submachine gun in his hands, and a magazine pouch dangling from his heck, and Vincent was almost close to shooting the Englishman when he recognized him right away; thank goodness for his close-quarters-battle and hostage-rescue training.

"Where the hell did you got that?" he demanded. "That's a MAC-10!"

Liston grinned like a duck hunter, quite proud of his trophy. "I bagged one!"

"C'mon, no time to linger here, or those sons of bitches could turn us to Swiss cheese," Vincent said, and they trailed their wards to cover their six.

* * *

_This is unreal,_ Sachiko thought, her wrist pulled by Kashiwagi's grasp. _This isn't happening… Impossible! Who are they? What do they want?_

_What__'s going on?_

Her heart throbbing at twice the normal rate, and her eardrums still ringing, she couldn't understand why, her mind completely shocked by the swiftness of the attack, and in the nineteen years she had on this green earth never she had experienced anything else like it.

Is this a robbery, an act of thievery? Piracy? Is it those terrorists, those who killed her parents, those monsters now coming to kill her for last? Sachiko couldn't guess, and all they had to do was to run up the staircase, trying not to be caught by whatever those faceless ghouls coming to do harm against them.

She could hear the loud staccato of gunfire below, but her mind was focused on getting out of here, running for their lives.

"Wait!" Vincent barked as they were almost past her bedroom, and they stopped right there. "Get your belongings, your purse, wallet, phones, only bring anything important."

"Why?" Sachiko asked.

"We'll need them," Vincent said as they returned to the bedroom and without missing a beat, all three girls took their valuables as he and Liston peered out of the door. "You have a credit card?"

Holding her purse, Sachiko blinked. "Yes, but why?"

"As soon as we get to a nearby ATM, we'll have to clean out your bank account."

"What?" Sachiko exclaimed while Liston and Suguru led Yumi and Touko out of the room, heading to the fire exit.

"Who knows? If they're so sophisticated, they could find us by simply checking how much you spend with the credit card."

Sachiko nodded, and Vincent obliged her by running before him, hurrying out of the door and back into the hallway.

* * *

The configuration of the mansion consisted of the main house itself, with a pair of annex buildings connected to either side of the house by a corridor, and encircling a courtyard; the annexes were fifty meters long, built a decade after the mansion itself, the upper floors to accommodate dozens of guests wishing to stay overnight, and the ground floors intended for servants' quarters and for additional storage.

The invaders checked the ground floor. Nothing but three of the security men dead, with one of them gunned down as he exited the surveillance room. Determined, half of the invaders went upstairs to the second floor, and they threw flash bangs and sprayed every room, before they found nothing.

So they set themselves to go on to the third floor, where their quarry were supposed to be, but instead were greeted by the fusillade coming from Vincent and Liston, with one of the invaders catching a bullet or two in the chest before tumbling down the staircase.

The team leader then radioed his cohorts outside, to try blocking their quarry's escape.

* * *

They were now huddled near the fire exit, with Liston and Vincent crouched by the door, and Kashiwagi right in front of the girls; they were holding the precious purses to their chests.

"Do you know what those men want?" Suguru asked Vincent.

"I have no idea, sir," Vincent replied as he had his hands and pistol in the Weaver stance. "Until we have to find out ourselves, we still have to get the hell out of here first."

Vincent calculated just how far they were from the garage. About sixty meters, he guessed, and they'll have to sprint as fast they could. Between here and the garage there were trees and hedges to provide sufficient cover and shade.

"Sean, you'll have to cover the door," Vincent said. "We're going to dash our way to the garage."

"Got it," Liston said, nodding.

"What do we have there?"

"A 300C Chrysler, milady's Maserati, a Benz limo, that pair of Cadillac Escalades, and a pair of Bimmers."

"And I don't think my car's any useful right now, right?" Suguru chimed in.

Vincent turned to Suguru. "Yeah, and you'll have to lead them down, sir," he said.

"I'll do," the young man agreed, before he gingerly opened the door and peered outside for a second. "Nothing out here, I think."

"Okay, now ladies, you'll have to follow him," Vincent spoke.

Sachiko blinked. "But what about you?"

Vincent pointed at the door. "We'll follow to give you girls cover."

Liston nodded, and then he handed to Vincent the Ingram, before pulling out the Taurus pistol. "I'll use this instead," he said. "That MAC isn't my cup of tea compared to the SA-80 I once had."

"Okay, let's go!" Vincent said, and then Suguru led the way.

* * *

Once outside and standing on the platform, they clambered down the ladder, trying not to make too much noise, praying that none of the invaders have covered this escape route.

Now Vincent espied the garage, partially hidden behind the trees but Suguru tapped him on the shoulder.

"You go first," Suguru said.

This time the ex-commando was surprised. "Pardon me, sir?"

"Take them with you!" the young man clarified, but not too loud to draw attention.

Sachiko and the girls were blinking upon hearing of Suguru's decision. "Kashiwagi… You can't do this!"

"I know," Suguru replied. "You're the one and your _soeurs_ that needed to be protected. My life isn't of my concern right now, so I'll have to distract them."

"But…" Sachiko trailed away.

"_Onii-san!_" Touko said, but Yumi was open-mouthed in shock.

"JUST GO!" Suguru exclaimed, and then Vincent and Liston had no choice but to let Suguru do his thing, hoping that somehow, against all odds, the scion of the Kashiwagis could hop into his own car and follow them out of the compound.

They parted, with the two men accosting the girls across the expanse, dashing in low and behind the hedges; Suguru went the other way around, and then from the ground he picked up a stray rock and threw it at the window.

* * *

With a loud bang, the shattering glass could be heard like a firecracker going off in all directions, and that drew the attention of the invaders.

The enemy completely distracted, Suguru ran all the way to his car, parked several meters away from the garage. He then started up the Mercedes, released the clutch and stepped on the gas, the tires unleashing a rooster-tail of gravel behind it.

Suguru intended to rouse them out of the house, as he drove the Mercedes around the mansion like mad.

Now he was drawing heavy fire from all sides, bullets dinging on the body of the car, punching holes into the steel.

_Fuck the dents, __I can buy myself a new one,_ he thought as his SLK's snout smashed into one of the stunned invaders trying to shoot him through the windshield.

* * *

Meanwhile at the garage, Vincent kicked the door open, went inside and turned on the lights; the garage had all the cars present. His mind thought of what they should be driving, but finally decided on one of the Escalade SUVs: big, powerful, and surely thick enough to take much damage; the other cars, fast and nimble as they were, might not be enough for their survival.

"We're taking the Caddy," Vincent said as Liston handed him the keys to the Escalade. The ex-commando pressed on the key fob, opening all doors, and without hesitation, Sachiko took the front seat, and Yumi and Touko the back seat, and Liston jumped into the rear cargo bay.

After dropping himself and the Ingram into the driver's seat and slamming the door, Vincent then slotted the key into the starter and twisted it to ignition, instantly bringing the aluminum-cast, fuel-injected V8 rumbling to life.

"STRAP IN AND HOLD ON!" Vincent declared as he fastened his seat belt, prompting the others to follow suit. Hearing all the confirming 'clicks' of the seat belt fasteners; he then mashed his right foot on the gas, even with the garage doors all closed.

* * *

Just as they were trying to stop Kashiwagi's rampage around the lawns, the invaders saw the Escalade spectacularly explode out of the garage, smashing through the garage door, with splinters and all, screeching and smoking the tires as the SUV made a sharp turn to the left, and then roared straight to the gate.

But before they could react any further, one of the invaders seemed to have gotten lucky, as Kashiwagi's Mercedes lost control and flipped to its side, tumbling over several times before crashing into the gazebo in the middle of the garden.

The team leader was enraged, and again he radioed, this time for aerial support in the form of helicopters. Now he ran towards the wrecked sports car and the gazebo, which was already surrounded by the rest of his men.

They found Suguru Kashiwagi, bloodied while suspended upside-down, restrained only by his seat belts. He was breathing shallowly, trying to keep himself alive. Blood was now gushing from a fatal wound somewhere around his lower extremities, possibly a gunshot punched through the steel-sheet door, and the cascade now stained his shirt, splotched with some dirt while tumbling sideways.

"For an aristocrat like you," the team leader said in Japanese, "I'm impressed by your initiative. Now where they're heading to?"

"Them?" Suguru said, and then he coughed. "I don't think you could find them. Fact is, you'll never get anything from me, neh? Even if you kill me right now, you'll never get anything from _Sa-chan._"

The team leader fumed.

"Whoever the hell you are, you bastards…" Suguru whispered, his breathing now became ragged. "You'll never touch… with even a dirty finger on her."

And in a final act of defiance, Suguru flipped the finger at them.

* * *

At the same moment Suguru expired, the Escalade went full throttle and demolished the reinforced steel gate, the collision nearly destroying the SUV's garish front end. The vehicle shrugged the halves of the gate off its wrinkled hood, and then turned to the right, before thundering away.

Inside the SUV, Sachiko was completely catatonic, unable to move any further. In the backseat, Yumi had Touko's head resting on her lap, with both girls trying not to cry; as for Liston, he ran a hand through his hair and sighed.

"You okay?" Vincent asked, his eyes paying full attention to the road as he navigated his way out of the upper-crust neighborhood.

Sachiko couldn't say anything at first, but she then whispered, "Kashiwagi…"

"I'm sorry, milady," he said, momentarily gritting his teeth. "He did everything to protect you."

The young woman burst into tears, turned to Vincent and quickly exclaimed, "My God, WHY IT HAS TO BE THAT WAY?"

"Because, milady, you're too IMPORTANT!" the ex-commando shot back. "He'll fight and die for your sake! How much do you think you have?"

"My money doesn't have anything to do with this!" Sachiko argued.

"I know! Any ideas as to what those damned men are up to?"

Sachiko sniffed, using her forearm to wipe her tears away. "I don't know at all! I don't know! There's no way my family could possibly make a lot of enemies! It's just impossible! So what can we do right now?"

"We'll try to find out as to who the fuck is behind this," Vincent said, his hands rigidly gripping the steering wheel. "Oops, pardon my French, milady," he apologized.

But Sachiko was grieving too much to care for her bodyguard's curses as he muttered those imprecations loudly, or for that matter, his anger.

* * *

Once he saw Suguru's eyes close for the last time, the team leader turned to his men and said, "Let's go after them! Take even the dead; we'll dispose of them later."

As his men rushed to rejoin the vans that had delivered them earlier, the team leader then pulled out his mobile phone and dialed.

"Well?" the man on the other end of the line asked. He sounded like seventy years over, trying not to sound desperate.

"We only got most of their men dead, along with Kashiwagi," the team leader reported. "We've encountered surprisingly heavy resistance, got two of our men dead, and one wounded. We'll try to chase them this time."

"Do it," the man commanded. "I want her alive! Do whatever it takes!"

* * *

**Author's Notes:**

As I was staring on this fic a couple of years ago, and while playing the track "Air" from the _Angels and Demons_ soundtrack, I envisioned this chapter as I listened.

Originally I was to give this fic either the titles _The Ogasawara Supremacy_ (after I was thrilled by _The Bourne _trilogy) or _Soeurs and Demons _(of course, one of my favorite novels), but decided on _Nineteen_ after remembering the movie _Wasabi._

*sighs* There are some readers out here who were a bit disappointed after I decided on the girls' relationships, especially as far as pairings are concerned. Sure, I am in favor of a Sachiko X Yumi relationship, as well as a Yumi X Touko relationship, but to be honest, I really wanted to explore more of their characters and the possibilities in them yet untapped.

As I wrote, I asked myself some questions like, "Is there anything more to Sachiko than just the universe limited by her creator?" and "Do I need that this pairing to stay that way forever?" I am very much reminded of some _K-on! _fans who were against the idea of character development after hearing that their favorite girls have to grow up and go to college. Like people, fictional characters with a personality do have to grow, and therefore they have to move on to the next level. Of course, there will be times one will have to lay on a bed of roses, and there will be graver times when it's time to be brave to rest on a bed of nails.

Addendum: the correct version of the quote above (but once again attributed to Orwell but never his): _"People sleep peacably in their beds at night only because rough men stand ready to do violence on their behalf."_

So, hence, I apologize to anyone who thinks otherwise, and should there be graver grievances, it would be best that I should be informed via PM instead of leaving comments, and I'll try to provide a proper response. Otherwise, normal comments and criticisms are still welcome.

To Vega62a, thank you for your superb fic _Fake;_ I appreciate your excellent exploration of Sachiko's personality while including some real-life locales.

Until then, I'm gearing up to write down a new chapter for my other fic called _Angels and Witches._ Thank you and good afternoon.


	5. Going Off the Grid

_**A few minutes before…**_

_This is the end of me, right?_ Suguru thought as he was upside-down and bleeding to death. _No, I have to do the right thing for her... and those girls, too._

Suguru Kashiwagi was a heir to their sizable family fortune, mostly invested in the manufacture of heavy machinery and precision equipment, but within himself he was still a human being, hence not invulnerable to mortality.

One of the invaders was lucky to find his bullets making its way through the panel of the driver's-side door, hitting Suguru's legs and severing an artery, causing him to lose control of the Mercedes, crashing the pricey sports coupe into the gazebo. Now the car was a total wreck: the radiator and the engine block were cracked and leaking, three of the wheels were still on, and the windshield was almost shattered, held together only by the thin layer of safety film.

In his last moments of consciousness, he remembered being misunderstood, partly for the unfortunate fact that he was bisexual by nature, and partly because he thought he would be the right man for Sachiko, and she would accept her proposal.

How wrong he really was; he underestimated her resolve, along with her scathing disdain against him and eventually to all other men, on the account of unrestricted infidelity running within the family.

Ever since that young woman slapped him right across the cheek almost three years ago, he figured that it would be best for Sachiko to find the answers for herself, to let her understand the world on her own, and that meant keeping a respectable distance between them.

In the three years since he first saw Yumi, Suguru realized that this young girl, seemingly clumsy and wide-eyed to the world, was the best thing ever to happen to Sachiko; through Yumi she grew up as a person, learning along the way, trying to comprehend what it took to become a mature and a responsible individual.

Suguru then reinvented himself as an advisor for the three women of his life, especially to Yumi and Touko; he gave the former pointers on how to deal with the difficult realities of the social stratum that Sachiko and Touko inhabited, and how to get along diplomatically; to the latter he advised his younger cousin on the matters of personal relationships with others, and why she should not ignore Yumi's concerns.

Ah, he did not forget Yuuki either; he was a superb companion, funny as hell to see that he was Yumi in a boy's uniform, but Suguru made it a point that their friendship need not to be too romantic or sexual in nature, but just like Sachiko and Yumi intended to have theirs as a bond between sisters, yes, he treated Yuuki as a younger brother.

Suguru sighed; the memories made him feel a bit better.

As the masked invader came up (he could only see the man's boots and jeans) and asked him questions, the dying young man gasped, the searing pain from the wound somewhere around his hips flared, before he spoke his last words.

Yes, he had to do the right thing for those girls. He was much-maligned and misunderstood, thought to be an aloof, arrogant and pompous man, but in the end, perhaps this final act of sacrifice, he hoped, would provide him redemption.

Suguru knew that in this dying state he will not live to see Yumi (and later, Touko) graduate, that he had lived a good life, never had much trouble, he did some good things to counteract the bad deeds he made in the past, that somewhere, somehow Buddha might favor him for this one last act of selflessness.

_Sa-chan,_ he thought. _This isn't my story. It's yours. You're a strong woman, and I hope you can keep it that way even if… Yes, I know, I'm dying. You have much more to live for than I do, and you're the one worthy to write down your own destiny._

_I'll see you all someday… and thanks for the memories._

He then smiled defiantly at the invaders, flipped the finger at them, closed his eyes and that was all he had to do, before his heart stopped pumping.

* * *

MARIA-SAMA GA MITERU: **NINETEEN  
Chapter 5: GOING OFF THE GRID  
**Written by soulassassin547 9/9/2011 4:16 a9/p9

* * *

_**Now.**_

The partially-wrecked Cadillac Escalade roared on the elevated expressway, and with Vincent behind the wheel, dodging traffic at high speed, he glanced at the onboard digitized map console installed into the dashboard, pinpointing their location by GPS, informing them of traffic and road conditions, and to determine which route they'll have to use.

The digital speedometer on the dashboard also told him he were speeding at around 90 miles per hour, but hoping that the highway patrol, driving on all the expressways in black-and-white Subaru Impreza or Nissan Skyline GT-R interceptors, wouldn't catch them with a radar gun or a speed trap.

As the black Escalade was directly imported from the United States, modified beforehand by placing the driver's wheel and pedals to the right, it was also equipped with a detector suite bolted to the ceiling, capable of sensing radar, infrared and laser speed traps and guns, and then warning the driver to slow down.

To his left side, Sachiko couldn't say anything except for blinking and then pulling some tissues from a box to dry her eyes. Yes, she was grieving, and Vincent assumed that she wished she could say a few more things to Suguru Kashiwagi. Without taking his view off the road, he could hear the muffled sobs of the girls at the backseat, Yumi and Touko in anguish.

Bitterly the girls have just lost one of their closest confidants in life.

As for Sean Liston, sitting in the rear cargo bay, the Englishman was silent, looking out through the rear window at the traffic behind the SUV.

Vincent glanced at his rear view mirror; nothing behind them, no sign of that Mercedes that Suguru had brought into the compound an hour earlier. He was also waiting vainly for that young man's phone call, to say that he was alive and following them.

But Vincent didn't have to figure out that Kashiwagi decided to sacrifice himself to make their escape easier, to draw away the attention of their invaders.

He shook his head. _That man had a lot to live for, but then I think he wanted to set things right, even for the last time… and I think he loved Sachiko, without having to say much, that he decided to give himself away to fate._

On the other hand, Sachiko was feeling clammy, her breathing becoming labored, a combination of nausea induced by Vincent's high-speed evasive driving and severe adrenaline shock, so she said, "Stop."

"What?" Vincent said. Now even in the dim light he saw her pale face, almost white as snow.

"I SAID STOP! I'm going to vomit!" Sachiko cried out.

The ex-commando immediately swerved to the left and onto the emergency shoulder lane. He then slammed on the brakes, with tires screeching, causing all of them in the SUV to pitch forward in their seats, restrained only by their belts. He then unlocked the doors and calmly said, "Okay, get out."

Sachiko quickly unfastened her seat belt, pushed the door outward and jumped off with both feet onto the pavement, ran to the wall separating the road and the world outside, and then with her hands to the wall, the young woman bent down and retched, her mouth wide-open as she unleashed from her troubled stomach the remains of her dinner.

Without missing a beat Yumi and Touko got off their seats, went to her side and tried to console her, rubbing the back with their hands as she vomited.

As he got out of the SUV to see for himself, Vincent grimaced, hearing one of the most discomfiting sounds coming from the woman he was sworn to protect. He could also smell the offensively sour odor wafting from the puddle that she also made.

"Damn, pavement pizza," Liston muttered, scowling as he emerged from out of the rear tailgate. "We forgot her motion sickness pills."

"I didn't know that," Vincent said.

Sachiko coughed to clear her throat, having done retching yet the sour taste remained on her tongue and mouth, and then she began to breathe deeply. Inwardly she swore she could also see stars dancing around her eyes; she almost suffocated due to her constrained breathing.

"You okay now?" Vincent asked as he approached her.

"Y… Yes," Sachiko answered between breaths, and Yumi, going back into the SUV, helpfully gave her a box of tissues from the backseat for which to wipe her mouth and face, and even under the chin. "Thank you, but I feel faint. Give me a moment, please."

Vincent nodded. "Okay."

"Mister Hayashida?" Yumi said as she and Touko propped Sachiko to stand up, and then let her lay down on the backseat.

Vincent blinked. "Yeah?"

"Where are we going?" she questioned.

"I think we'll have to do something about this Caddy, like ditching it, and then try to jack another."

Sachiko blinked, not moving an inch. "You mean to steal a car?"

"Yeah," Vincent said. "Look, it's not okay driving around town with this thing's nose smashed up; it could draw some attention, either from those bastards trying to kill us, or the cops, and all the noise back there must've surely woke up your neighbors."

"But… Wait, I thought you wanted me to cash out my bank account."

"Okay," Vincent said as he peered into the Escalade and consulted the digital map. "There's the exit ramp up a couple of kilometers ahead, and just off the ramp and around the street corner there's a convenience store with an ATM."

Sachiko nodded, as she placed a hand on her forehead and rubbed the temples.

"While you girls take a break and wait for us there," Vincent said, "we'll have to ditch this Caddy, hide it away somewhere, and jack another one. I was trained to do just that as part of our skills."

In fact, Vincent's training included a test of survival in which trainees have to go from point A to point B over long distances in unfamiliar territory, with only their clothes on and nothing in their pockets, which meant they have to steal, lie and cheat their way through without drawing the attention of the police or causing an incident with the locals. That way, in a covert operation they could survive behind enemy lines in a hostile nation, thousands of miles away from home or a friendly country.

"What if you get caught?"

"I assure you, I'm trained to deal with that, so don't worry much, okay?"

"Okay, Mister Hayashida," Sachiko answered. "What are we going to do with my money?"

"We'll buy some things to survive in the meantime: first you girls need a change of clothes, then a few tools that I'll have to use, and finally, to spend only on what we really need."

"Like food and gasoline?"

"That's right. And, oh, by the way, my friends call me Vince, and I think that from this point on, we should go by our _first names_ to make things easier, even if it means breaking protocol. Remember, we're all in this together, okay?"

Sachiko nodded. "I think you're right, Vince," she said, now using her bodyguard's first name.

"Thank you, Sachiko… And Sean," Vincent called out.

"Yeah?" the Englishman replied.

"You still coming with us, or you make a run for your embassy?" He was referring to the possibility of safe asylum for Liston inside the British Embassy, smack in the center of Tokyo.

Sean thought for a moment, and then said, "I'd rather keep my job, I have more skills than serving tea, which means I have to stick along even in this bloody mess, and anywhere milady goes. Besides, I'm missing a lot of adventure, and Afghanistan was the last time I had such an experience."

Vince grinned. "You're welcome, man," he said as he watched Sean climb back into the cargo bay, before he turned his attention to the girls. "Yumi, you'd better stay with your _onee-sama _in the back to keep an eye on her."

"Okay," Yumi said, nodding as she slid in and propped Sachiko's head on her lap before closing the door.

"Touko, you can take the front seat."

"Yes," Touko answered as she climbed in, sat down right besides Vince before closing the door.

"All right," Vince said as he grabbed the door handle and pulled the door in. "Let's hightail out of here before any of them could spot us on this stretch. We're getting off the grid."

* * *

At home, Prime Minister Murasaki was having a fitful sleep in bed with his wife, Kyoko, when he thought he felt his cellular phone was vibrating. His eyes cracked open, and squirmed to get himself sitting on bed, picked up the phone and in irritation he said, "This is Murasaki speaking, and can't you see that I'm trying to get some decent sleep?"

"Sorry sir," the man at the other end of the line said. "I'm Commissioner Ogata, National Police."

"Oh, sorry… It's you," Murasaki apologized. "What made you call me? What's going on?"

"There's an incident at the Ogasawara compound, and I'm here right now."

He struggled to sit on the side of the bed, causing Kyoko to groan almost silently. "And?" he badgered.

"Your Excellency, it's a home invasion," Ogata said. "Several of their security men were shot dead, and we also found the body of Suguru Kashiwagi, who's closely related to Miss Ogasawara."

Murasaki's eyes flew wide open. "What?"

"He died from bullet wounds after he had apparently tried to fight off the attackers with his car, and then was shot and his car tumbled around till he crashed into a gazebo."

"Damn it," he muttered. "Now, what happened to the girl?"

"She's gone, along with her closest friends, a Yumi Fukuzawa and a Touko Matsudaira, her butler Sean Liston, and the man running the security detail for the family. We're trying to guess where they have gone, for they took one of the cars in the garage, a Cadillac Escalade SUV."

"Ah. That would be Hayashida."

"I know him, sir," Ogata said. "I met him at a security conference last year."

"I see… So what else have you and your men found there?"

"Their attackers jumped over the fence, then blasted their way through the windows using framed charges, so we have some leftover pieces of plastic explosive," Ogata spoke. "There's also lots of bullet casings, pieces of flash-bang grenades, mostly in every room, as if the attackers were clearing them one by one with submachine guns. Of course there are some bloodstains not belonging to the guards; the attackers must've taken their dead and wounded away as they left."

Murasaki groaned.

"Asides from cordoning off the whole mansion and the premises, we're now trying to find the Escalade, and I've already put out a follow-up operation to hunt down whoever assaulted this house, and this isn't a Yakuza hit-and-run; they're generally quiet as far as their criminal activities are concerned, they don't do Mafia-like hits like these unless their boss must be insane. So it has to be the work of someone else, either those attention-seeking terrorists or some bunch of foreign gangsters, or perhaps even some mercenaries."

"Sounds farfetched," Murasaki said, "but not impossible as long as there's a lot of money involved."

"That's right, sir, but personally, I've never seen anything like this serious in my whole career, especially as this family held no grudge against anyone whatsoever... except for the little flap back during World War Two."

"Come again?"

"It's a rumor, not substantiated completely, that during the war Hiromu Ogasawara was said to be indirectly responsible for funding the operations of Unit 731. Thereafter it was claimed that the family couldn't invest in China now because of their alleged involvement."

This time Murasaki frowned. He knew that Unit 731 was based in China after the Japanese invaded the country in an attempt to annex it for the so-called Greater East Asia Co-Prosperity Sphere; the business of the infamous outfit was to develop and test germ warfare technology, using prisoners and dissidents as guinea pigs. Tales of carnage and utter brutality were borne from their activities, and while most of the men involved were either imprisoned, sentenced to death, or committed suicide, the ringleader of 731 was taken to the United States, where his bio-weapons knowledge was then put to covert use by the US military in the development of biological and chemical weaponry, and thereafter lived a quiet, secluded life until he died of natural causes. To this day, the infamy of Unit 731 was one of those sore points in Japan's relationship with some of her neighbors: there are still some lingering recriminations that could not be banished, aging victims on all sides demanding justice and compensation.

Murasaki's mind was now whirling, trying to figure out if this piece of obscure history was related to the Flight 3902 Bombing, as it was now known in the media, and to tonight's incident.

"Oh, God," Murasaki groaned. "Guess I'll have to dress up."

"Pardon me, sir?" Ogata said.

"I'm going to call for a meeting of everyone involved in the investigation, and this is now a matter of national security. That includes the _Jietai _top brass and their intelligence officers, the defense minister, the Americans from the NTSB and the FBI, and then you, and then we'll start making calls to some intelligence agencies and Interpol; I want the station chief of the American CIA to come and tell us, and I want to know if those two incidents, the bombing and the home invasion, are linked to that little tidbit of history, as it sounds plausible."

"What time?"

Murasaki checked his bedside clock: it was now 10:45 in the evening. "I'll set it an hour from now. Eleven forty-five... and oh, I also need a full briefing on each and every one of them involved; I want to know exactly who are those girls are, and exactly who is Mister Hayashida."

"Okay, sir. I'll ask HQ to do the research and prepare a summary immediately, and of course we'll have to inform the families of those girls firsthand; they might help us in looking for them."

"Thank you, and will see you there," he said, and only then Murasaki placed the phone back onto the bedside table and whispered to his wife.

"Honey," he said. "I have to go now."

"What?" Kyoko drowsily murmured; her one eye almost wide open. "At a time like this?"

Murasaki stood up and walked towards the bathroom, intending to take a quick shower. "It's an emergency; has to do with the plane bombing."

* * *

The Escalade now got off the expressway by way of the exit ramp, and Vince turned the vehicle to the left, drove a hundred meters until they stopped in front of the local AM/PM convenience store. Opposite the store was a branch of the Japan Trust and Savings, with its ATM booths still open.

While the three girls quickly got off the SUV and dashed to the bank, the two men took a momentary break by lighting up cigarettes before talking. So far, with the exception of a few passing cars, the attendants inside the store, and a drunk salaryman staggering while trying to get home, there was nothing out of the ordinary within the hundred-meter radius.

Sean sighed. "Too bad, he could've lived but he chose what he thought was right."

"Who, Mister Kashiwagi?" Vince asked.

"Yeah. All I know is that like milady, he's also the sole heir of his family's company. I guess he wanted to be the saving prince who lets his damsel to live on."

Vince shook his head. "He had so much to live for."

"Right. I would've raised a toast for him being damn hard and having the balls to be left behind. Such a magnificent chap he was, right in the end."

"Seems that you have much experience with guns," Vince said to Sean, changing the subject. "Tell me, were you in the military once? You didn't say much."

Sean nodded. "Yeah, I should have told you firsthand, except I don't want to raise some attention to myself," he said while tweaking his moustache. "Before I came here, a few years ago I was once used to be in the Paras, the Paratroop Regiment, that is. We were deployed to Afghanistan, took me a couple of tours, with lots of patrols and raids, saw some of my buddies die, or at least wounded and had to be medevacked back home. But I survived and still proud of it, so you could say that on behalf of milady I still have no problem blowing away a bugger standing in my way or cutting his sorry throat."

"I see," Vince said, before he chuckled. "Not bad for a guy who can make some good fish and chips."

"So where we should be heading?"

"As soon as Sachiko cleans out her account, and we get ourselves a new ride, we're going to Akihabara."

"I heard there are stores open all night long, especially the thrift shops."

"Right, and we're also buying some survival stuff on the cheap, and then we move on to my place."

"I hope they don't know where your pad is."

"Yeah," Vince said. "They don't; it's deep in the neighborhood, and for now it's the safest bet we have."

* * *

At the bank, and with two of her _soeurs_ watching, Sachiko stood before the console of the automated teller machine, and after she inserted the credit card into the reader, punched in a few keys to withdraw _all_ of the money in her account, the ATM whirled to life and brought out the equivalent of US$30,000 in ten-thousand-yen bills (yes, the ones with Yukichi Fukuzawa's face, but distantly related to Yumi), almost emptying the whole machine. She then picked up the cash and the receipt that came with it, but she tore up the receipt and tossed the pieces into a nearby waste bin.

Sachiko then turned around and showed the money. "There," she said, holding the bundle in one hand, and her other hand slid the card back into her purse. "That's more than enough to keep us alive."

Yumi looked unsure. "How long do we have to keep up with this?"

The young woman shrugged. "I just don't know."

"We'll have to trust them," Touko said, referring to Vince and Sean, but then her head lowered. "I wished _Onii-sama_ didn't have to die for this."

Sachiko sighed. "Vince's right," she said. "He could've come with us, but he made up his mind. It was his choice to stay behind and try to stall them… I can't blame him for doing the right thing, so I guess all's left is to remember, to forgive him and... Yes, I hope he forgives me for thinking he was wrong on many things."

Inwardly she decided it best that she would grieve and mourn only _after_ they all survive this harrowing experience; she understood that there should be no time to waste and to hesitate, considering the grave circumstances they were in right now.

Furthermore they'll have to think, to use their wits and maybe their innate talents to keep going.

The young woman then took both girls and hugged them. "I hope he's all right someplace," Sachiko said. "He decided to do something good in the end… The important thing is, right now, we have to stick together, and as these men know what they're doing, let's hope that we can come out of this alive."

"I understand," Yumi said.

"Yes," Touko added.

"Okay," Sachiko said as she let go of her _soeurs. _"We need to buy something at the store, like a drink, so, what do you two want to have?"

She then sensed that the air right now was shivering cold, and it dawned upon her that they were still wearing their pajamas, and thus forgot to bring their jackets along.

"Let's have some latte," Yumi said, arms wrapped around her body. "It's freezing out here."

Sachiko nodded. "Okay, I'll buy some pills for motion sickness, and besides there should be a washbasin inside, too; I need to wash my face... I'm sorry for our inconvenience but I _stink_."

* * *

The two men, standing by the half-wrecked Escalade, saw the girls come towards them.

"That was quick," Vince said.

"I have to wash my face first," Sachiko replied as she unhesitatingly entered the store, with Yumi and Touko following, the automated door sliding open for them.

Vince and Sean then watched the trio buy some latte, before Sachiko went to the washroom at the back of the store. It didn't take long before they came out.

"Will you girls be okay waiting for us?" Vince asked.

"Yes," Sachiko said. "We'll sit by the windows." She pointed at a table affixed to the window, so that patrons could watch the scenery outside while eating a quick snack.

"Okay, but don't use your phones yet," he cautioned. "Turn them off to stay low."

"Why?" Touko asked. "I want to call my mama and papa."

Vince shook his head. "I'll be the one to call them, before I'll have to take the batteries out so that nobody's going to track us down, assuming if they have some sort of a tracking device to locate your phone."

Touko and Yumi blinked. "Really?" the former asked incredulously.

"It's true, and don't turn them on until I say so, okay?"

Touko nodded but sighed in disappointment. "Okay."

Satisfied, both men hopped into the Escalade and Vince fired it up. "Don't worry, we'll be back in a jiffy," he said before pulling the doors in and then they sped off.

Only then the girls went back inside, sat down on the stools and waited.

* * *

Now Vince and Sean were cruising around the neighborhood, to find a suitable car they could break into and drive off.

"We're not going to touch those newer models; they have a burglar alarm built into them," Vince said, his neck craning around. "Hell, some of them are electronically locked."

"So we'll have to nick any old car, even a truck?" Sean asked.

Vince nodded. "Yeah, as long it has four wheels, with a key ignition, a good engine and doesn't fall apart."

After a minute, they found a 1990s-model Toyota Hi-Ace van in a darkened lot. They got off the Escalade, peered in through the windows to look that the van looked all right, inside and out, even with a few dents, and fortunately there was no burglar alarm installed. There was additional amount of privacy in the form of beige curtains on the side windows.

They looked around for a while, as if expecting witnesses, and then seeing that the coast was clear, Vince wrapped his elbow with the trench coat, and he drove his protected elbow through the glass window on the driver's side, smashing it to pieces. Vince reached for the lock handle and pulled it, the door now hanging free.

"Piece of cake," Vince said as he pried apart the plastic shell that protected the steering column. "Now I have to wire up the ignition."

"You know these things?" Sean asked.

Vince now held several wires in his hand, pulled out from the column. "Yep," he said, bringing out from his belt a Victorinox Swiss knife and used its blade to peel away the wires. Recalling his car-jacking lessons from memory, Vince then made the exposed wires bring into contact with each other until the engine caught on and idled.

Sean grinned, clapping Vince on the back. "All right! You got that bugger running!" he exclaimed before laughing.

Vince chuckled. "Thanks," he said.

In triumph, the men then transferred whatever valuables they had inside, including the guns, from the SUV to the van, then boarded the van before driving out of the lot, to come back for the girls waiting for them.

* * *

After picking up the girls, they were now heading southeast, using one of the many major roads leading to Akihabara, undisputedly the place where one could almost buy anything - appliances, computers, electronics, toys and even clothes.

While on their way, Vince took out his mobile phone and turned it on, then speed-dialed Murasaki's unlisted mobile number.

"Yes," the man at the other end of the line answered. "This is Murasaki speaking. Who is this?"

"It's me, Vincent Hayashida, your Excellency."

He could hear what seemed to be the Prime Minister coughing in surprise, and then, "Where are you now?"

"I can't say sir," Vince said. "We're in real danger, and I have to find someplace for us to hide."

"But we would like to help you; we'll send someone to pick everyone up."

Vince shook his head. "No, I'm sorry, sir, I can't. Not with some really bad nasties coming after us, and I swear that these are no ordinary hoods; we're up against a bunch of pros, whoever the hell they are."

"Are the girls with you? I mean, you have Miss Ogasawara?"

"That's right, sir."

"Her lady friends, too?"

"Yes, and her butler is along with us."

"May I speak to any of them?"

Vince paused for a moment to think, and then said, "Again, I'm sorry, sir, but we're in a hurry. I don't want to allow anyone to triangulate our position with this call, if those damned goons have good tracking equipment and be able to follow us, so it means that we must go off the grid and use pay phones from now on."

There was a momentary pause, as if the Prime Minister was thinking hard.

"Okay, since you're the expert, it's your call," Murasaki said thereafter. "Otherwise, if any of you get stuck in a tight spot, call us, and we're ready to bring you out of there. Good luck, Mister Hayashida."

"Thank you, sir. We'll try."

The phone now went dead in his hands. Sachiko leaned forward and asked, "Who was that?"

"The Prime Minister himself."

Sachiko blinked. "What? He could help us like providing witness protection!"

"I can't."

She looked angry this time, finding it inexplicable that Vince refused Murasaki's help. "Why?" she asked aloud. "He's our only chance, can't you see?"

"Call me anything, Sachiko Ogasawara, even if you're my boss and then throw a tantrum right now," he answered back, emphasizing every word with his stabbing forefinger, "but I'm the only one who's the _difference_ between your survival and those wanting you dead, so you'll have to trust me on this, and because we have real professional hitters going after our tails, we can't act naïve and assume about everything."

That was it: Vince was dead serious about his job to keep her and the two other _soeurs _alive, and in his logic, to assume was to act stupid.

"I see," the young woman said dejectedly. "You're right again."

They said not another word until Akihabara.

* * *

By the time they arrived, passing under the elevated railway line running north and south, the storefronts were still open, their lights blazing. Left and right there were billboards for maid cafes, video games, anime-related merchandise, publications, and cheap gadgets.

Welcome to Akihabara.

Vince then turned the van left into a side street, where he found parking space for a fee. Before the men got off, Vince asked Sachiko and her _soeurs_, "What are your clothing and shoe sizes?"

The three girls told them their sizes from memory, and Sean supplied the exact information on behalf of Sachiko, for he was sometimes asked to buy clothes for her in downtown Shibuya.

"Jeans, sweaters, jackets and sneakers would be okay," Vince said. "Just in plain colors, and given your tastes, I'm not going to buy anything that's pink or has some cartoon characters printed or stitched on; we have to blend in, not to stand out."

"Okay," Sachiko said. "We'll be fine right here."

"Just stay alert, all right? Should you encounter trouble, turn on your phone and call us; we'll be coming to your rescue in no time." He then gave her his number, before Sachiko handed to him all of what remained of her bank account.

Afterwards the two men walked away, and the first destination was an emporium specializing in outdoor goods, personal security and survival gear. There Vince bought several pocket-sized cans of Mace, a pair of telescopic batons, binoculars, and miniaturized two-way radios with encryption and an earpiece.

In another store selling consumer electronics, they bought a pair of new low-priced mobile phones, and the storekeeper helpfully offered a variety of plans to go with them. Vince chose the most basic plan, which meant the phones would be used only for limited calls and message sending.

Next stop was a thrift store selling cheap factory overruns, and immediately they acquired several sets of clothing and footwear, five gym bags, and after a bit of hesitation, some underwear.

As they lined for the checkout lane, Sean noticed that one discount bin held a mound of blue-striped panties, and already a trio of pimply misfits were taking a dozen, stuffing the panties into their shopping baskets.

"Why there's much attention for such undies?" the Englishman asked as he watched.

"Otaku fetish, you know," Vince said. "They're hotter than lace and silk, or so I believe."

Sean shook his head and said, "What a country this is; you and I will never know what would be the next advancement in knickers."

Once done, Vince counted the money as they went back to the van, where they gave the clothes to the girls, who then locked the doors and blocked the windows, before changing their garments, slipping from bedclothes to dress casuals. Out of modesty the men wisely turned their backs and waited for about ten minutes, until the girls knocked on the windows, and the heiress slid open the door.

"We're done," Sachiko said, the young woman now wearing a black jacket over her beige sweater and a pair of blue jeans. "Thank you."

* * *

Afterwards their van drove away, took the first ramp onto the expressway as they head southwest. Even with the missing window on the driver's side, which caused a continuous draft to blast the van's interior and almost making them shiver in their seats, they skirted the center of the city, went past the domestic-use Haneda Airport, and then bypassed the port city of Yokohama by taking the scenic Bayside expressway.

Because there was little traffic on the expressway, mostly consisting of trucks and cargo vans, they were able to travel fast for forty-five minutes.

Along the way, each of them were deep into their thoughts, especially the girls, who thought of home, of their classmates and school, and fond memories of Suguru. But the overall feeling was that from now on it would be near impossible to resume their lives, and it was clear that the girls' lives were hanging on a balance, and how well they would survive depended on smarts, instincts, talents and guts.

The world they lived in was no longer safe; they'll have to dodge their pursuers, whoever they are, and what motive they possessed.

In Sachiko's case, she wondered who those invaders were, and why they have to kill almost everyone, and then was it possible that, somewhere in the past there was an enemy they forgot to remember?

Try as she might, Sachiko had little inkling about other secrets concerning her family, especially about the allegations about her great-grandfather during World War Two, which might have something to do with her dire set of circumstances. Perhaps by the time they arrive she would mention about this to Vince, and then they'll have to find the answers for themselves.

But then her heart ached; the people she held dear and close were gone forever, now only a memory, intimate moments that she will have to recall once in a while; in her heart she thought Suguru was asking her to go on and live, to fight for survival, and hopefully emerge triumphant from this harrowing experience.

On the other hand, Touko willed herself not to cry again, but instead took on a stoic approach on which her life would be conducted, and in this case, the social gaffes, the gossip and the trivial issues coming from the social climbers were nothing compared to this.

As for Yumi, it would not matter for her how much difficulty she might have to endure in the coming days, as long as she would fight to stay loyal to her _onee-sama_ and her _imouto_, but this was a life-or-death situation, and there would be no room for error_._

Instead, she'll have to learn to cope with this new change in her life, where all that matters was the will to survive, and above all, she'll have to struggle to be optimistic, even if everything else around her could erupt in flames.

* * *

And then they briefly saw the overhead signboard announcing that they have arrived at Yokosuka, the small city greeting them with the lights of the girlie bars, dives, and saloons catering to American sailors; to their left was the naval base, and beyond that was Tokyo Bay.

Even with the dim light, they could see the harbor, filled mostly with gray warships of all sizes, but what was astonishing for them was the seemingly immense height and breadth of the aircraft carrier _USS George Washington,_ currently tied to the dockside, its flight deck filled with fighter planes.

"We're here," Vince announced, pointing his finger at the vessel shortly before he turned right. "Home sweet home," he added.

He then consulted the clock on the dashboard: it was now past twelve midnight, today was Monday, and he marked it as Day One for the rest of their lives.

"By now I'm sure he's waiting for us," Vince said.

"Who's 'he'?" Sachiko questioned.

"Seiji's my only son, so I'll have to get you two be introduced properly."

The young heiress blinked, but Vince noted her reaction and laughed.

"What's so funny?"

"Don't fret, he's _not_ going to bite you," he jokingly reassured. "And if you're wondering why I'm laughing at a tense time like this, once in a while you really need an emotional release, you gotta stop worrying for a moment, so you have to laugh at danger."

* * *

Back in Tokyo, six vans and a helicopter overhead converged onto a darkened vacant lot, and the same masked men jumped out of their vehicles and surrounded the Cadillac Escalade, with all of its doors ajar. With the chopper providing blinding illumination from a search light affixed to its nose, cautiously the invaders approached the lone SUV with their guns ready, and then turned on their tactical lights to light up the vehicle's interior.

There was nobody inside.

Outraged at being outwitted yet again, the team leader took off his ski mask, revealing him to be white in complexion, his hair made into a crew cut, and his face twisted into a scowl. Once again he brought out his mobile phone and dialed.

"They're gone," he said in American English, before he heard the man on the other end of the line mutter a curse.

"Mister Barr, I want to know who's protecting her," the man replied, his English colored with an Oriental accent, but sounded as if he was controlling his fury. "He's making your work very difficult."

"Don't worry, sir, we'll see to that," Matthew Barr said. "Once we get to know the cause of our problems, mark my words, we'll destroy that son of a bitch."

* * *

**Author's Notes:**

I'm surprised that I'm much comfortable writing this piece, compared to the rather unwieldy crossover fic I'm still thinking about working on but procrastinating.

No, this is becoming a thrill to write, familiar characters in unfamiliar ground and perils!

Right now I have the _Bourne Trilogy_ soundtrack on (and sometimes alt-tabbing to my Kindle copy of _The Bourne Identity_), as I visualize what comes next. Even I am wondering what dangers lie ahead for our ladies, and hence may I remind us all of Kurt Vonnegut once said:

_No matter how sweet and innocent your leading characters, make awful things happen to them in order that the reader may see what they are made of._

And then the controversial assertion by my favorite blogger about how current-day fictional heroines should really be written (her comments in italics, emphasis marked in bold, my comments in normal type):

_I defined "strong woman" recently as a __**woman in control of her circumstances**__. This differs significantly from woman in sexy leather body suit shooting big-ass gun. A woman shooting big-ass gun has already lost control _**(what?)** _and is fighting to regain what was hers. Of course she __**never can**_**(what? It should be "near impossible")**_...she and her family have had their lives destroyed and you don't ever come back unscathed from that. _

_**What I want so desperately to see is stories of women who have made it past the scarring, have learned to not lose control of the situation, even when things are falling apart around her. A leader. A calm in the storm. Not the storm itself.**__ Perhaps writing that story is too complicated, too "boring," too alien for most male writers or male audiences. _

_It has been done - Utena took control over very weird circumstances indeed, Yumi did it with compassion and charm _(that's right, she's happy being with her _onee-sama_ no matter how difficult her superior's awkward social circumstances – see Season 3 OVA episode 1)_. It will be done again. In between, I'm afraid we're just going to have to wade through a lot of panty shots and big-ass guns._

If that's going to be her criteria, then she's looking for a very smart PC heroine who's also highly organized in thinking and actions, and is never a loose cannon, someone like **Darby Shaw** from John Grisham's _The_ _Pelican Brief_, a heroine who doesn't even have to pull the trigger to win.

All right, enough with the soapboxing. For now, we've completed the girls' transition from normal life to survival mode, and in this brave new chapter of their lives, to know, understand and outsmarting the enemy is far more potent than wading in with all guns blazing.

Finally I've decided on the unofficial OP/ED songs: (OP) Chumbawumba – _Mary Mary / _(ED) Moby – _Extreme Ways_

Again, thank you for reading.


	6. Refuge

_**DAY **__**ONE**__** – **__**Monday, **__**12:46**__**AM**_

The Toyota Hi-Ace van climbed slowly on the narrow street, as Vince drove to where his home was, located in a warren of tile-roof homes overlooking the small city and the harbor that can only be described as a "Navy Town" ever since the Imperial Navy first established a base on that piece of land jutting out into the bay, where they developed and tested naval aircraft, as well as containing a wartime shipyard, which later gave birth to much of Japan's seaborne arsenal, including the largest battleships ever constructed: the _Yamato,__Musashi_and the _Shinano,_ the last being converted into an aircraft carrier, then later sunk by an American torpedo on its maiden voyage_._

But at this quiet moment on this cold and dark Monday morning, a war has now been declared against Sachiko, complete with bullets and blood, except for God knows who sent those goons to raid her home and kill most of her security detail, and in the process putting Yumi and Touko in harm's way.

Now the van drove through an open gate, and into a small yard, where, just a few meters away and illuminated by headlights, was a two-storey house built in the contemporary style: glazed-blue tiled roofing, stucco walls, a traditional polished-wood porch, glass windows with aluminum frames, and a garage (which at the moment was empty, save for the large red Craftsman tool boxes, with Vince inadvertently having left his Civic behind at the company garage).

Just as Vince killed the engine, the lights in the house went on, and once they came out of the van, a young man was standing right besides the supporting post on the porch, wondering what made his father bring this van here; the young man's hair was in a mess, he was wearing eyeglasses, a black Thirty Seconds To Mars t-shirt, and checkered pajama pants.

"Hi Dad," Seiji greeted Vince with a half-smile. "What the heck's going on? Who are they?"

The young man checked out the man's companions: a tall Caucasian with a moustache, and a trio of young women, two of high school age and one… she looked familiar, so Seiji blinked twice.

"Oh, sorry," Vince said. "It's going to be a very long story, but they're going to stay with us in the meantime." The ex-commando nodded to the girls, as if asking them to introduce themselves. The three Roses looked at each other for a moment, but Seiji decided that he should do the honors first.

"Hi…" the young man said, nodding as he did, the dim light almost hiding his blush after he recognized, but took a breath and then added, "I'm Seiji. Nice to meet you; and you are…?"

Coming face to face with a boy almost of her age, thus rousing her momentarily from pangs of exhaustion, Sachiko blinked at first, but then she figured that this should be better than the first time she met all of Yuuki's oddball student council two years ago, so she bowed her head and said, "My name is Sachiko Ogasawara; How are you?"

Seiji grinned, feeling a bit awkward, fighting to look composed. "Uh… Just all right, been studying since nine," he said, before he turned his attention to the two other girls.

"I'm Yumi Fukuzawa," the girl with the brownish hair said, and then she bowed.

"Touko Matsudaira," the other said, also bowing her head lightly.

Seiji wondered who was that mustachioed foreign man standing behind them, carrying a pair of shopping bags, plus what looked like a single-grip submachine gun slung over his shoulder (he thought it was yet another pellet gun), but the Englishman said, "Hi, I'm Sean Liston, and I'm milady's butler."

The young man blinked. "Milady?"

"I work for Miss Ogasawara," Sean clarified. "Sorry, lad."

With the introductions done, Vince looked at them and said, "Well, since all of you are welcome, why don't we step inside? And Seiji—"

"Yeah, Dad?" Seiji said as he let the visitors take off their shoes on the threshold of the door and then entered.

"Get the spare room cleared up and ready, and bring out the futons," Vince ordered.

* * *

MARIA-SAMA GA MITERU: **NINETEEN  
Chapter****6:****REFUGE  
**Written by soulassassin547  
10/13/2011 9:22 a10/p10

* * *

The Situation Room, as the meeting place was called, and placed in the basement of the Prime Minister's office building, was almost identical to its American counterpart beneath the White House: a very long conference table, identical chairs, three sets of pitchers filled with ice water and glasses surrounding them, a pen and a pad of paper for every chair, one wall lined with flat-screen monitors, a whiteboard plus a marker, and an overhead LED projector with the requisite projection screen.

At this moment, the projection screen was overlaid with information, mostly data about the Flight 3902 Bombing, and the whiteboard had several pictures of people tacked on, with more data scribbled below each picture.

And already the meeting was halfway through for an hour, talking about possible suspects and motives, when Murasaki told all of them about his deduction, after Commissioner Ogata said about an unlikely answer that could be the impetus for the bombing. Only the CIA station chief, the NTSB and the FBI representatives, also the only foreign nationals present in the room, sounded skeptical about the idea.

"You seem to have overlooked about the possibility of the bombs being transferred from one plane to another," the CIA man said. Already he'd been issued an order from his President to investigate the bombing incident, to see if the Ten Rings was indeed behind it, but the other Japanese present in the room thought otherwise.

He'd already read the newspapers and the butcher's bill: roughly half of Flight 3902's passenger manifesto were Americans bound for home, mostly businessmen, students, and military personnel, and already, too, his country was in a state of shock and mourning, and predictably some were asking loudly for revenge. Worse, once again there were troubling reports that American Muslims were being targeted for hate crimes across the country, no thanks to the stereotype tacked onto them since 9/11.

"We have that angle covered already, sir," Ogata said, referring to the 1980s attempt by Sikh separatists to plant bombs in Indian airliners by exploiting the baggage transfer system, that is, airliners passing on the baggage from one city to another, separated from its owner while in transit. "Any luggage passing through either Narita or Haneda must undergo a multi-point security check, and the system has been changed since then. Besides, it's a long way from Bin Laden's so-called _Bojinka_scheme back in the nineties, when a bunch of terrorists tried planting bombs in US-bound airliners and failed, except for the one passenger who got killed in his seat when one of those bombs exploded without taking down the whole plane. It's only now that we're looking into the angle that a third-party group might have been able to infiltrate the ground crew staffing."

Ogata didn't bother to add a few more: yesterday the airport security administrator at Narita publicly apologized and then resigned on the spot; that the US State Department and several other foreign ministries promptly issued travel advisories warning their nationals from going overseas; that once again security in every airport in the world came under intense scrutiny.

"Come again? There's no way that any member of Ten Rings could be employed inside your airports."

"I know, but there is a possibility," Murasaki said, "that someone and somehow might have held a personal grudge against any of the passengers, and at the same time, given that lots of money involved can do wonders, this same someone could have paid Ten Rings, with untold sums of cash, to take credit publicly as the sole party responsible for this incident."

"You mean that Ten Rings did only the PR, to take the heat away from the real perpetrators?"

Murasaki nodded. "It's likely, yes, and as much as it's a long shot, I cannot discount individuals from our other neighbors as being behind the scenes, the ones you refer to as 'rogue states'. This someone might have paid experts to plant those bombs and walk away without being detected."

The Americans looked at each other, and then the FBI man asked, "Is there a connection between this and this evening's attack on the Ogasawara estate? That's what we came here for."

Ogata nodded. "Yes, it's possible."

"How so?" the CIA man questioned.

Ogata explained about a rumor that circulated during and after World War Two, heard by his grandfather while working as an office clerk in the Imperial Army, it was said that among the industrialists who were asked to fund Hideki Tojo's war machine, Hiromu Ogasawara's money was allegedly used in 1932 as capital to set up the Unit 731 germ warfare research operation in China, and whether he was coerced to pay or voluntarily pledged his money was a question that was still unanswered.

Because this allegation was based on second-hand information, and most of the personnel involved in 731 whose names were never made public, save for its top scientists and military overseers, Ogata admitted that he has yet to find anyone alive who could prove or disprove, for most of them have died over the years, never convicted of crimes against humanity, and there may be secret documents floating around somewhere in the government archives, hopefully not heavily redacted or burned up completely, which might help Ogata confirm the allegation's authenticity.

For now, a rumor was still a rumor, and the old men and perhaps a handful of women have taken their secrets to the grave.

"And so you say that someone who was victimized by this program, after all those years, decided to get even on a huge scale?" the FBI representative asked.

"In a way, yes," Ogata said. "That's why I brought this up as a possible angle, and besides, haven't you forgotten about last year's spate of unexplained deaths of 731 men in your country?"

"Of course, we don't," the American answered as if he almost took offense. "But even now, we haven't found any suspects, and, yes, they were all involved in that program." He then explained the brief version of the sordid story.

Last year and across America, from San Francisco to New York, the FBI was stumped by a series of deaths of elderly, expatriate Japanese survivors of the Unit 731 project, wholly unsolved due to the lack of evidence.

Under the program called Operation Paperclip, and with General Douglas MacArthur's approval in writing, Axis technologies were transferred to the US military for further study, with some of the scientists brought over to the United States after World War Two, to assist in developing that military's covert biological warfare research using their data, in response to the Soviet threat during the Cold War. Their war records were expunged, thus avoiding prosecution, given a new, quiet lease in life (with a new citizenship, a job and a house, a pension, plus free education for their children), these survivors were therefore largely unknown and lived unmolested for decades.

That is, until most of them died under suspicious circumstances.

"It smacks of revenge, and thus makes sense, doesn't it?" Ogata questioned. "All's left is a name that links everything, along with the proof we need, which is why, right now I'm having several of my people looking into it, and by late morning they're going out to ask questions and sift through the archives."

* * *

They entered the living room, which was lit by a standard circular fluorescent lamp hanging from the ceiling, directly over the low table; the floor consisted of nine tatami mats laid out in the traditional style, and there were cushions gathered on one corner, the other was occupied by a high-definition television set, below which a low cabinet contained a satellite receiver, a VCR and a Blu-Ray player. Besides the television and a foot away, was a gas heater, now turned on to provide warmth.

One wall of the living room, however, was occupied by a pair of loaded bookshelves and an upright lacquered-black Steinway & Sons piano in between, and above them was Vince's personal memorabilia – especially from his military days and subsequent studies in personal protection and physical security – and pictures, showing him (in both civilian and formal naval dress white uniform) and his son in the past, back when his wife was alive and well.

While Seiji went ahead and prepared the bedroom upstairs, the rest of them sat down around the table, with the three girls kneeling on the cushions, while Vince sat cross-legged, and Sean deposited the bags by the stairs.

"Sean, be my guest," Vince said. "You can help yourself to fix some tea for all of us. There's some in the cupboard."

"All right, Skipper," Sean said as he stood up and walked over the kitchen. Sachiko noted the way Liston now moved, more loosened up than the usually upright, stiff and formal butler he was back home.

"What do you think?" Vince asked. "You might not be impressed, but that's all we have here."

"It's okay, Mister… I mean, Vince," Sachiko said, correcting herself.

"Just like back home," Yumi said. "It's no different."

Touko nodded wordlessly, agreeing that she felt as ease being here.

"It's done this way so that any of my guests can feel relaxed," Vince said. "Okay, I just want to talk about just who wanted you dead, so—"

Sachiko said, "There was a nasty rumor about my great-grandfather being involved in some secret project during the war."

Vince blinked. "What?"

Just then Seiji was back from the spare bedroom, walking down the stairs and heard his father talk.

"Dad," he asked as the young man sat down, "did you say that someone's trying to _kill_ her?"

"Yeah," Vince said. "Is it on the news right now?"

"I'll check," Seiji said, picking up the remote control and switched on the TV, which immediately showed a news bulletin, with live aftermath coverage of the attack on Sachiko's home. He was instantly stunned.

"Several of my men are dead, son, as well as her former fiancé," Vince said, "Which is why these girls are here now."

As he watched the anchorwoman talk to the reporter on the scene, asking if the attack was a mob hit or a Red Army terrorist raid, Seiji scowled. "W… Who did this?"

Vince shrugged. "We just don't know, and those bastards came in without warning." The former commando explained what transpired more than an hour ago. "Now I want to know precisely who was behind this, and why."

"God," Seiji muttered as he looked at Sachiko. "I'm sorry for your loss," he almost whispered.

Sachiko nodded. "Thank you," she said.

"Tell me," Vince spoke as Sean returned with a tray, laden with tea cups and a kettle, and set them down on the table before sitting on the mat. "Tell me what he did during the war."

The young woman took a deep breath and said, "It was a rumor about him, where he was supposedly involved in a secret military project as a financier, and that project killed a lot of people, mostly prisoners."

"And none of your parents or your grandfather ever told you about that?"

Sachiko shook her head. "No, but I only found out more a few months ago, as I came across a newspaper which my grandfather was really upset after reading and tossed it into the wastebasket. I wondered why and picked it up, and there's this article inside that says that my great-grandfather was named in an upcoming tell-all book about this group called Unit 731."

Vince was suddenly wide-eyed. "What?" he exclaimed.

"Hey, I know that," Seiji said, butting into the exchange. "Those guys did a lot of nasty stuff back in the Big War, making biological and chemical weapons, then testing them on prisoners of war and dissidents, before unleashing the bugs onto the Chinese."

"Bugger," Sean muttered, instantly surprised at Seiji being knowledgeable in the subject. "How did you know?"

"I watch documentaries on my free time," Seiji said. "I also browse and look up on some factoids, not all of it very pleasant reading."

"I see. You sound like a walking encyclopedia, lad."

Seiji nodded in thanks and continued. "Yeah, and then the scientists involved were taken prisoner after the war, but instead of being charged for war crimes, they were secretly shipped out to America with General MacArthur's approval, where their data supposedly was used to understand and then develop that country's own secret arsenal until the late seventies, with the signing of the Biological Weapons Convention, which effectively halted all further development of those weapons, and in compliance the United States had to destroy their bio-weapon arsenal completely."

"Now, wait a minute," Vince said before he turned to Sachiko and asked, "What's this book that your granddad was upset about?"

"I think it was called… _Germs __of __War,_" the young woman answered.

* * *

At the same moment, three black-and-white Toyota Crown police cruisers were heading from main headquarters to separate homes within the Musashino District; each cop car had a pair of detectives and a pair of patrolmen in the front, the latter to drive them to their destinations, the former to personally deliver the summons.

One of them stopped by the front yard of the Fukuzawa residence, and the two detectives stopped out and walked over to the door. One of the duo pressed the doorbell, repeating the procedure for five minutes until they heard someone coming. The door opened to see Miki Fukuzawa standing before them; she looked as if roused out of bed, her eyes half-asleep and brown hair unkempt.

Miki yawned. "Good morning, gentlemen. Who are you?" the woman asked, her eyes blinking.

The two detectives flashed their badges. "I'm Detective Yano and he's Detective Ishihara," the taller of the two men said before they bowed. "I presume that you are Mrs. Miki Fukuzawa?"

"That's right, gentlemen, and what is it that you two need?" she asked, but felt there was something not right about their unexpected arrival. "I mean, what's going on?"

"I'm sorry, but Mrs. Fukuzawa, we would like you and your husband to come with us to Headquarters, to answer a few questions regarding your daughter Yumi."

Immediately Miki gave them a shocked look. "_What?_"

* * *

While they partaken their cups of tea, Seiji brought down his laptop computer and placed it right on top of the table. As the household was within the range of their wireless network router, and therefore linked to the Internet, Seiji searched for the book _Germs __of __War_, and immediately found it available for sale on Amazon Japan's website.

There was the book cover, a short blurb, and the user comments on the bottom, filled with rants and raves from both sides of the political spectrum. He then clicked on the Preview button, which included an excerpt of the book:

_In July 1932, a month before the germ warfare research groups were deployed to occupied China, then called Manchukuo, the militarists needed seed money to create the program, including the hiring of top scientists and the acquisition of deadly material to work on. They came up with the list of known industrialists and at random they picked Hiromu Ogasawara, the owner of the retail company based in Tokyo._

_So the next night they summoned Mister Ogasawara, the Kempeitai military police transporting him by car from his home in Musashino, and at Imperial Army HQ, in a room occupied by the top militarist leadership, they asked the man if he could lend them money for a top secret project, saying it was approved by the Emperor himself. The men around him even showed the purported document, complete with the Emperor's signature and the imperial chrysanthemum seal, stamped in red ink. _

_At first Mister Ogasawara hesitated to think, and it took minutes before he decided that since the document was official and the intent legitimate, and since he was very loyal to the Emperor and whatever he said was a imperial edict, he signed the document, effectively handing them over ten million yen worth of securities and bonds to finance the project, not knowing that soon he would be partly responsible for the gruesome deaths of several thousand Chinese, prisoners of war, and dissidents. _

"Who wrote this?" Sean asked. The passages in that brief extract alone chilled him to the bone, a feeling that he never had before.

Tapping and scrolling his finger on the touchpad, Seiji checked the sidebar that contained details on the book.

"Taro Matsuyama," he said, reading off the kanji on the book cover. "He's an investigative journalist and a writer. Let's see if he has a blog or a webpage."

Sachiko and Vince nodded, as they watched Seiji opened a new tab on the browser, and using Google, he found Matsuyama's webpage before clicking further to access the journalist's personal information; in addition of being a journalist/writer/pundit for four decades, Matsuyama revealed himself to be a card-carrying member of the Communist Party, has authored several books critical of the government, corporations, and US foreign policy and its military presence in the country; co-authored investigative books about atrocities committed on both sides during World War Two; the side of the webpage was filled with small graphics declaring his support for various causes, as well as other books and websites he strongly endorsed.

His most recent picture showed him to be a stern-looking old man, with long gray hair, horn-rimmed glasses, and a fierce, scowling face streaked with wrinkles, as though wanting the world to rid of its capitalist trappings and face the music.

As voluminous as his profile was, however, Matsuyama never had a phone number or an email address, insisting that his readers, admirers or haters correspond to him by mail through his publisher.

"Given this guy's slant," Vince said, "I wonder if he's telling the truth or reinterpreting it with a Marxist-Leninist-Maoist filter, and if he has a lucky lawyer who can pull him out of libel cases."

"Well, he's lucky in this country where political reprisals are very rare," Sean remarked. "Elsewhere he's a libel magnet, or a lynch mob would've killed him for provocation."

Vince nodded. "Son, can you check if he has an address?"

"Sure, Dad," Seiji said, and indeed there was, but it belonged to his publisher: the office was located within Meguro district, on the southern part of Tokyo. "Why, you want to talk to him?"

"We need to ask him about his sources, face to face, assuming if any of them are still alive. We need proof."

"But that means we'll have to go back to the city," Sachiko said.

"No, not today," Vince said. "Apart from preparing ourselves, there's a way to play it safe to come back there."

In unison, the three young women asked, "How?"

* * *

After passing around the table several folders to the attendees, Ogata was now reciting the biographic data of those who escaped last night's hellstorm; he was holding a copy of the printed information that his people had gathered up, replicated by the digital Powerpoint presentation write-up that appeared on the projection screen. At the moment the screen had Vincent's face on, along with earlier photographs of him as a naval officer. Initially he was deeply impressed with Vince's biography.

"First of all, we have Vincent Inoue Hayashida, male, widower, born on May 15, 1966, according to the data provided by the US Department of Defense."

The CIA chief nodded in acknowledgement, as he was the one responsible for supplying the sanitized version of the file, thanks to a quick favor made by talking to the presiding base commander of US Naval Base Yokosuka, also known as CFAY.

"A native of Pearl City, Hawaii," Ogata continued, "the only son of John and Ritsuko Hayashida, both _Nisei,_he graduated from the US Naval Academy at the age of 23, joined the Navy and served two years as an officer before he voluntarily applied for training in the Sea-Air-Land Team, known more precisely as the Naval Special Warfare Group or SEALs. He first saw action in 1991 in Kuwait, then Somalia, Kosovo, Afghanistan, and Iraq, and later served as an instructor for the SEAL school at Coronado Beach, California. In his capacity as an effective officer in the field won him many awards and citations, but the death of his wife Sarah from ovarian cancer, however, forced him to retire early with the rank of lieutenant commander, and he emigrated here with his son Seiji. He is currently employed by the Ogasawara Group as a Deputy Chief Security Officer for four years now, and is living with his son in the city of Yokosuka."

"Fascinating," one of the _Jietai_ generals observed. "So this is the unlikely man to protect that young woman? It looks like they got more than they bargained for."

"Yes, he is," Ogata said. "I have met Hayashida before at a conference on corporate security some years ago, and by all accounts he's a very good professional, despite that he doesn't speak much of his career in the past, for most of those missions are top secret."

Ogata then flipped the paper to another page and clicked on a pen-shaped pointer that he used to advance the Powerpoint presentation to another slide, which showed Sachiko's picture. He took another breath and spoke.

"Sachiko Ogasawara, age nineteen, female, born on October 8, 1992. She is the sole daughter of Tohru and Sayako Ogasawara, and also grand-daughter of Harumi Ogasawara, three of them deceased recently due to the said plane bombing, and thus currently heir to the family corporation, a retailing concern worth over six billion US dollars. Presently, Miss Ogasawara is also a freshman student of Lillian University, after having graduated from Lillian's Private High School for Girls with high honors, and prior to her recent enrollment to that university's Business Administration course, she was then president of the student council called the _Yamayurikai_, the Mountain Lily Club, and in her capacity of that office she demonstrated excellent leadership skills. She was to marry Suguru Kashiwagi, whom, I'm sad to say and as we all know, is now dead as of last night, but the engagement was canceled a year ago, on the decision of her then-fiancé."

The men around the table quietly murmured their sympathies, before Murasaki nodded to Ogata to move on. The 52-year-old police commissioner took a quick drink from the glass and a breath, and then clicked on his pointer yet again; now the slide showed Yumi this time.

"Yumi Fukuzawa, age eighteen, female, and born on May 18, 1993. A daughter of Yuichiro and Miki Fukuzawa, Miss Fukuzawa is also a twin of her brother Yuuki. This young woman is a third-year student of Lillian's Private High School, and at present she is also the president of that school's student council."

One of the _Jietai_ officers, an admiral, held up a hand. "She sounds insignificant," he remarked. "That's all you have there?"

Ogata shrugged. "I'm afraid that's everything we have on that girl, except my niece, who happens to be studying there, thinks that Miss Fukuzawa is an effective diplomat."

"I see… Go on," the admiral said, and Ogata moved to the next slide, this time showing Touko's face.

"Touko Matsudaira, age seventeen, female, born on July 24, 1994. She is the adopted daughter of Ryoji and Minami Matsudaira, both owners of a company engaged in the manufacture of medical equipment and supplies. Adopted because her parents were killed in a car crash, and she was the only survivor, and it happened that her biological mother was also the classmate of her current foster mother. Like Miss Fukuzawa, Miss Matsudaira is also presently studying at Lillian's as a second-year student, and is a member of the _Yamayurikai_."

"Hm," the Transportation Minister said. "Looks like Mister Hayashida has a lot on his hands. Given the scale of the dangers they're facing, isn't it too difficult for that man to protect those young women?"

"No, I don't think so," Ogata said. "Miss Ogasawara's butler happens to be a former British Army soldier, and as a paratrooper he served in Afghanistan for two years. He is a British national, a native of Liverpool, and for the record one of his former employers included the Duchess of York."

The men before Ogata flipped the pages on their dossiers, and read off the biographic data on Sean Liston, thanks to the cooperation of the British Embassy and the Immigration Department.

"Well," the minister said. "You're right. This Sean Liston must be damn tough for a butler."

"Personally, I think it's unwise that we should underestimate Hayashida and Liston," Ogata said. "I think they're more than capable enough to protect Miss Ogasawara and her companions while in hiding."

"Where are they right now?"

"Since we are the only ones in this room," Murasaki said, "and of course, we do not allow anything we said tonight to leak out of here after this meeting, I believe they have taken refuge in Hayashida's home… at least for now."

Only then a door opened, and then an aide came walking up to Ogata and whispered into his ear. It took no more than ten seconds before Ogata said, "Excuse me, gentlemen. Right now the parents of two of our subjects are being questioned."

* * *

"That's right, we'll have to go by with our disguises," Vince said in reaction to the looks on the girls' faces. "But before that, we have to consider whether we should be using the train or another car, as I'm sure the van outside needs to be disposed of. So, first of all, do any of you have some kind of special skill, something where you're really good at?"

Vince was asking them that question because, because he believed every person had a special talent for a particular field, the knack, the moxie, the small grain of hidden genius, no matter how smart or dumb he or she was, but rather acquired by experience or by accident or by instinct. To have that talent might be able to weasel them out of trouble, whether on a daily basis (at the office) or in a life-or-death situation (on the battlefield).

Touko was the first to answer. "I'm a great actress," she said. "I mean, I do onstage drama."

Vince was surprised that the young woman's mood turned 180 degrees, from morose to being ebullient, perhaps her old self before being struck by this senseless tragedy.

"And what's your best role?"

"I was Amy two years ago," Touko said confidently. "In _Little__Women._"

Vince grinned. "Wow, and what else you could do?"

Touko blinked. _What could I say? I could bluff or sweet-talk my way around, I could tell a man a tall tale, flash him by acting cute, all the while I'm fooling him as I steal something from him._

_Yeah, I might be a liar._

"Touko, don't worry," Vince said, breaking her reverie. "You can play-act as anybody, masquerade, to sound like you come from elsewhere like Osaka or Sapporo, provided, of course, a little change to your hair color... and a bit of cutting." His hands then made gestures, as if he was squeezing a bottle, and then using his index and middle finger as though they were scissors.

Touko's eyes flew open. "What?" she exclaimed.

"I'd say you bring out your wild side," Vince replied.

Seiji shook his head. "He means that you should act like a _Yankee_," he said, using a slang word for a teenage delinquent. "That is, bleached hair, a slightly disheveled look, and those loose socks: the clichéd _kogyaru_ look."

"No!" Touko objected, the bad joke a complete affront to her patrician upbringing. "I'd rather not! I would look dirty! I'd rather be dead than to look like a streetwalker!"

Sean shook his head half-amusedly as Touko sulked.

"Sorry," Seiji apologized.

"All right, I don't want a row between you two," Vince chided before he focused his attention to Yumi. "What about you?" he asked.

Yumi blinked. "Me?"

"Yeah."

The young woman looked up, thinking. "Well…" she trailed off.

"She's really a diplomat, you see," Touko helpfully said.

Yumi nodded. "That's right; I think I'm more of a negotiator."

"What else?" Vince asked.

"Nothing, except I'm good at bringing people together, you know, even if they don't agree at first with each other," she said, and then explained in detail how she, being Sachiko's second-in-command through two years, successfully turned the _Yamayurikai _into a credible organization by means of diplomacy and dialogue within the school and with other schools; this way Yumi made many friends with benefits.

"I see," Vince said. "You know what? Someday you could be the next Henry Kissinger."

Yumi blinked. "Who's Kissinger?"

"That man defined what diplomacy was all about, and in addition he was a highly indispensable aide, back when he was an adviser in the White House for three presidents. In your case, it turns out you have that savvy of persuading people and then bringing them together on the negotiating table."

Yumi couldn't say anything else, but she looked positively flattered.

Now Vince wondered what else Sachiko could do, but it became obvious to her that she should say something, with everyone's attention trained on her.

_All __I __know, _Sachiko thought, _I __mean, __I __can __only __play __the __piano; __I __once __studied __ballet, __and __I __was __a __leader __of __a __student __council__…_

The young woman blinked, for her mind brought up the only talent that she was becoming better at. _Of__course,__I__…_

_Yes._

"I'm still into archery," Sachiko finally said. "Traditional _kyudo_, really… However, as much as I practice, we never intend _kyudo_to be a competitive sport; it's unlike the usual form of archery you see on TV, but rather a way to instill self-discipline than simply trying to hit the bull's-eye. It's about me and how I handle my relationship with the bow, the arrow, and the target."

"I didn't know you were into _kyudo,_" Vince said. "When did you got started?"

"After I enrolled at Lillian University," Sachiko said. "Rei introduced me to it, and turned out to be wonderful experience; it's like a form of standing meditation, almost like _zazen_. Coincidentally, a distant ancestor sharing the family name first set up an archery school whose emphasis was on the ceremonial side, so in a sense I'm sort of carrying on the tradition."

Vince, Sean and Seiji were impressed with Sachiko's knowledge in _kyudo,_but the ex-commando thought otherwise_._

"Have you studied the other side," Vince said, "I mean, _kyujutsu?_"

"No," Sachiko replied. "Not much, except its emphasis was training the archer for warfare, back in history when this country was then divided up into many fiefdoms, and warlords employed them by the hundreds… Why did you ask?"

Vince sighed and said, "You know, and don't be angry, but given our circumstances right now, tomorrow I'll have to teach you how to defend yourself... even if you may have to _kill_ in self-defense."

The heiress blinked in incredulity. "With a bow?"

"With a _gun_," Vince corrected her.

* * *

Half a kilometer away from where Murasaki and the rest of the ad-hoc committee, Mrs. Miki Fukuzawa tried to wipe off the tears from her cheek with a crumpled wad of tissue, as Chief Detective Shunji Muramoto asked a few questions regarding her daughter's whereabouts, after he explained what happened at the Ogasawara estate.

"So, basically she's with her _onee-sama_, is that correct, ma'am?" Muramoto questioned.

Miki nodded. "Yes. They're very close for almost three years."

Muramoto scribbled his findings on a paper pad. "I see," he said. "Nothing else wrong with either one of them?"

"No."

"Now, do you have any idea where she, no, I mean, they could find refuge?"

Miki thought for a moment, trying to remember where Yumi once ventured out of town, and then she said, "The Ogasawaras have this vacation home near Nagano."

Muramoto blinked. "Really?"

"Yes, she was there two years ago, to spend all of Golden Week with Sachiko, and then the next year, shortly before that girl graduated, we were invited for a get-together for the holidays."

The detective nodded. "I see. Do you know where it is?"

Miki looked worried. "Yes, but first, why do you need to ask?"

"Because we want to prevent the possibility of Miss Ogasawara and your daughter from being caught in harm's way, assuming these raiders may have known their possible whereabouts. So we might have to send someone to watch over that place, and make sure they're in good hands until the bad guys are dealt with the full extent of the law."

"Okay, but as long as you cops really mean it," Miki said.

"We'll do our best, ma'am."

"Thank you," Miki said, and then told him the full address of Sachiko's summer home, which was situated in a small upper-class neighborhood nestled on the wooden hills overlooking the city, and thus called the "Millionaires' Row of Nagano".

* * *

The concept of killing another human being – for real, and with her own hands – was very upsetting to Sachiko, who was a product of an utterly different upbringing, where there was plenty within her economic bracket and in a country where crime statistics were still low, but in consequence a world plagued by social intrigues, well-chronicled in both the society pages on every broadsheet and gossip magazines in the country.

To kill was to witness great, horrific gouts of blood, gushing from an open wound, as though the victim's life-force was being drained away, and she could only imagine a man lying on the ground, blood pooling around his body as the final expression of his face was contorted by pain, the mouth gasping for the last few breaths of air, a futile act of desperation to climb out of the black hole that was mortality.

That was what Sachiko knew of what a kill looked like, based from what she read and saw on TV and PG-12 (but not R-15) movies. Specifically, at one time, out of the recommendation of an acquaintance from Hanadera's Detective Club, she tried to watch _CSI:__Miami_, where on a weekly basis Sachiko was presented with an unusual case, a supposedly complicated crime, replete with the slow-mo CG of a bullet flying in the air or a gas explosion or the butcher's knife about to strike and split the skin, until the main characters comprising the police forensics team, the case handed over to them, decide to use their forensic skills – combined with the classic deduction techniques promulgated by Sherlock Holmes – to go as far as to never overlook a minute detail in a crime scene, be a bullet, a body part, or a dagger dripping with blood, no matter how gruesome, to piece together the exact circumstances of the crime.

But for her to do the unthinkable, to kill even out of self-defense, was unimaginably terrifying, especially that her faith upheld one of the Ten Commandments not to kill another human being.

"No way," Sachiko finally objected. "I can't do it."

Vince shook his head and sighed.

"Even if you don't want it," he said, "the circumstances we are in may have to force you to think about doing the impossible. We are in danger, you see, so taking things for granted for what you think is normal is no longer possible. There maybe someone watching your back, someone with a malevolent intent, out to do harm. You unknowingly present yourself as an unarmed target, an easy kill for them, and because you're a woman, it gives them more confidence once they grab you by the wrists and subdue you completely until they'll do everything they want with your belongings or even your body; you, therefore, become their possession, against your will, a piece of living property for a finite amount of time till they decide on your final disposition."

Sachiko blinked. "Like killing me?"

"Yes, they'll do anything to you if they're truly cold-blooded."

Now that really made her insides twist around and freeze her blood, and worse, if they first decide to _touch_her skin… and mental images even _more_ terrifying than death. Thus Sachiko gave out this pained expression on her face as she shuddered.

"Are you okay?" Vince asked, as Yumi and Touko weren't able to speak to assist, only listening to his lecture, trying to comprehend as their minds realized that the real world could be as safe as hop-scotching on a minefield.

"Yes… I'm thinking," Sachiko replied.

"About what?"

The young woman stared back into his eyes. "About what it takes for me to defend myself, but it's difficult for me to take the killing part seriously."

Here was the hard part, the one a fresh recruit from boot camp has to go through the first time he finds himself in a firefight, with many others like him as they face a horde of determined men out to overrun their post. Sure, he has the rifle, but the soldier must decide as to whether he needs to pull the trigger or not. Yet the very post he was assigned to was a chunk of his home country, and he has sworn by oath to defend it, and therefore he has the reason and the purpose to take up arms on behalf of the homeland and law, mandated to defend the defenseless and of the interests of his country, to follow the orders of his Commander-in-Chief.

And with that in mind, despite initial mixed feelings, his ears blasted with the loud staccato of gunfire, and adrenaline rushing through his veins, he rises from the trench, protected by sandbags, picks the first target right through his sights, and pulls the trigger, before a second later he sees the enemy crumple down to the ground, yet another statistic to be compiled in a later report.

That was all when Vincent first saw as he observed the Marines that he was with, the time when he was assigned to this specific outpost in Kandahar, Vince already a veritable sea-daddy, a seasoned SEAL mentor to the anxious young Marines out of Camp Pendleton, a training base near Los Angeles.

"You know," Vince said. "The first time you kill someone, you'll be thinking a lot afterwards, seriously. You're shaken, your conscience will be bothered, you'll be having a hard time getting some sleep, trying to get over that experience, but the next time it happens again, stuck between hell and a hard place, another bastard trying to end your life, that hard reality becomes a part of your normal self before putting him out of his misery. This is what makes it very different from a video game or an action movie: you only live _once_; it's either you have to kill or be killed, and this is what makes up every soldier, be it me or Sean right here."

Sean nodded, agreeing with Vince's explanation. "He's right," the Englishman said. "We're been through that frightened first time, but overcame it because we were trained to kill out of self-defense and in the service of our countries. Now that we're in a war declared against you, milady, first you'll have to get acquainted with your dark side."

* * *

_The __dark __side_, Yumi thought upon hearing the words.

What was it? You mean, the bad side of a person, the one that allows someone lie to parents, cheat in exams, or steal a bag of chips in a convenience store, when the storekeeper wasn't looking?

Yes, lie, cheat, steal… But to kill? That was going too far, and that was also madness.

Yet with Vince's words, there was a difference between killing out of bloodlust and killing for a good reason. Yumi then noticed that her _onee-sama_ had nothing to say, to express her objection; she simply listened while trying to make up her mind.

As for Yumi, what would happen should they, like the masked invaders, caught up with her?

She would be dead, that's for sure.

However, she couldn't imagine what its like to have a gun fired at her direction, and in a millisecond later she receives the bullet, accompanied with great, searing pain somewhere in the body, while simultaneously staring at the fatal wound, blood gushing out with the volume of a faucet turned full-on… like the one time she briefly watched an old _chanbara_ movie, a samurai slicing his opponents down, their cut and exposed arteries spraying out into the air, a crimson mist.

And then the moment of death, the last breath and the last thing her eyes would see before fading out into blackness, into the forever sleep, not knowing what it would be like at the other side.

Quickly Yumi shook her head, and then made a personal resolve: she would rather die an old lady than to be a victim of a gruesome death at the hands of whoever evil was pursuing her _onee-sama_, henceforth she was summoning the courage to bring herself to accept the reality that Vince was proposing to Sachiko.

On the other hand, what words Touko had heard from the two men was almost alien and incomprehensible, speaking a language and of a culture different from her world; they were once men of arms, practitioners of controlled and reasoned violence, right before they left their military uniforms to live once more as civilians dressed in ordinary clothes.

Touko's grandfather, the overall authority who, together with another couple, ran the country hospital with the usual Japanese efficiency; he was a doctor who took the universal Hippocratic Oath at the beginning of his career, and therefore a man sworn to preserve life; his duty was to cure, but those two men present were trained to take life away.

True, they were servants, thus paid employees of the Ogasawara Group, but indeed they were of a different breed, hardened by war but tempered by their post-military duties. Judging from their actions a few hours ago, they were no ordinary men; if they have sworn fealty to their country, to defend it with whatever means necessary, right now they have also done the same for _onee-san_ Sachiko, and will do it again.

Now she remembered Suguru Kashiwagi, _onii-san_, who earlier made the judgment call to be left behind, to foil and delay their pursuers. What he would be called and remembered for, should people ask her about his actions, even though she could not imagine how he died back there?

In the end, he proved himself to be a good man by bringing out what she thought to be true nobility, such nobility expressed by his actions rather than personal wealth, and in one stroke removing the selfish, self-centered stigma associated with his cavalier, suave personality.

He redeemed himself, despite having never been a soldier like those two men tonight, as they talked to Sachiko about the use of lethal force.

As he watched his father expound to Sachiko about taking another man's life, Seiji remembered the one time when his dad said about how wars were conducted then and now, wars that took thousands or millions of lives using traditional means and at close range, and wars involving the latest in technology while employing powerful weapons of destruction:

_"There is a difference between pulling the trigger in the battlefield and pushing a button thousands of miles away; the former is quite real, everything's presented before you, the blood, the guts, the madness, the explosions, and that's where you can expound on the meaning of your life in a few seconds than you would brood upon existentialism for almost a lifetime; the latter is impersonal, as your enemy is presented as a distant target on the screen, like a pixilated bad guy in a video game, before you're given the orders to waste him right there with missiles, while comfortably seated and fiddling with the control stick. Easy as cake, or so he thinks._

_"Well, the latter can't hit it right with his UCAV most of the time, because the man doing the remote-control killing thousands of miles away can't be damn sure if it's indeed the enemy he's ordered to kill. Anything can go wrong under Murphy's Law: faulty camera circuitry, faulty transmission, faulty intelligence, faulty orders from the REMFs, and what he could hit might not be the enemy at all, but a hapless peasant goat herder who simply let his goats come out of the pen and munch on some grass. _

_"That's where we come in, the men trained hard and long for the job to make sure it's the right target we have to eliminate; we go in where no smart bomb, cruise missile, gadget or machine could hope to seek and kill, where real eyeballs, instinct and moral judgment take over, where we have to sneak in under the cover of night, dressed in black, almost never making a noise, before killing a couple of sentries with even our bare hands, and enter the cave to find the man we want. _

_"Yeah, they know that war machines and weaponry, no matter how powerful, would be useless against their age-old tactics and techniques they have employed with almost no money but with lots of religious and personal motivation. So it is far more better to have a dozen of us on the ground, hardened, smelly cavemen comparable to our smelly foes, than radio-control techno-dweebs (but no offense to you, my son, so sorry), because we are dangerous, we have the weapons right between our ears, rather than whatever firepower we have at our disposal, and we will do the killing the surgical way like cutting out a cancer from the body, making damn sure we have the enemy, face-to-face and in person, dead to the rights."_

That was the philosophy his father espoused, preferring the human touch as opposed to machine-assisted destruction, and that also left Seiji in a quandary, as to whether he could follow his father's footsteps or follow his heart's desires, even though the old man didn't ask him what he wanted to be.

Maybe someday, as soon as he receives his diploma, come graduation day, he would make the judgment call as to what vocation he should be pursuing, but for now he was damn sure that his dad would bring him along for the ride of his life, even if it could mean that he'll have to dodge bullets, because his dad knows that his skills with the computer would come in handy, whenever the old man needs information, because every good fight begins with good information and planning.

* * *

"My dark side?" Sachiko questioned.

Vince nodded. "Yes, that's right, the other side of your morality fence," he said. "I tell you, every one of us has a dark side, an opposite of our good side, just like yin and yang. This is the side of us that defies the laws of men and our beliefs, the taboos most of us don't want to explore, yet some of us tend to do in the contrary. This happens when we're desperate; we want to have at least one advantage in a very serious situation we can't extricate from.

"Say you wake up, in the middle of nowhere, to find yourself with nothing but the clothes you're wearing, and there's nothing in your pockets, either. What can you do, then? You then walk out of the forest, to see there's a village right ahead, except you can't be sure if the villagers are friendly and helpful, especially if you happen to be stuck in a hostile nation where one mistake will land you in jail. But you need food, clothing, and most important of all, money, and at the same time, you wonder how can you make it from that village to home?

"This is where your 'dark side' comes into play; you now have to rely on instinct, you have to assume the mind of a hungry animal, where survival is everything and the world is a dangerous place full of predators, so what's the first thing you need to do, should your stomach yearns for breakfast?"

Sachiko thought for a moment, and then she answered, "Steal some food?"

"Yes, you'll have to steal, but it's not easy; what seems to be a comfortable walk to a neighbor's home is now a difficult task, which means that you'll have to make yourself invisible by hiding, then sneaking up to another hidden spot, and so on, studying their movements and finding the proper timing to move on, until you're sure nobody's watching you enter any of their houses, whether it's a man or a dog, as you take away that fresh bowl of gruel on the table, pick up a few clothes drying on the line, even their wallets or purses if they're careless, and then duck and sprint again until you make it back to your safe spot.

"The point with this example is how the instinct for survival makes it absolutely necessary to abandon all moral reservations and _never_ play by the book, and instead maintain your capacity to analyze and plan your next move."

Sachiko nodded. "I see," she said, before glancing at the wall clock.

Two minutes past one AM.

Inwardly Sachiko wanted to at least purge her brain of the evening's chaos by not thinking much about it. She then massaged her temples and added, "Is it okay if we talk about this tomorrow?"

Vince now saw that she, Yumi and Touko looked tired and in dire need of sleep. "Sure," he said. "Guess it's time to sleep, guys."

The girls made a collective sigh as they rose from the tatami mat and trudged towards the staircase, with Seiji leading them. Meanwhile Sean piled up the pillows, staking out a spot near the door.

"Good night," Vince said.

"Good night," the girls said in unison as they climbed up.

Vince picked up the remote control and turned off the TV set, walked over to the wall switch and turned off the lights, before he settled back to where he sat, took out his Glock and unstrapped the harness from his body, placing them all on the low table. He then took one of the free pillows and lay down.

"So, what's gonna be?" Sean asked amidst the darkness in the living room.

"We'll have all of tomorrow to prepare," Vince said.

* * *

Back in the room, Muramoto heard his mobile phone go off, vibrating as it rang.

"Excuse me, ma'am," he said to Miki.

He then went out of the room, into the hallway, and took the call, recognizing the number on his display belonged to the police commissioner.

"Pardon me, sir?" Muramoto asked.

"Listen to me," Ogata said. "Miss Ogasawara and her friends are in safe hands for now."

"With whom?"

"A Mister Hayashida is keeping an eye on them, but we're not at liberty to disclose their exact whereabouts right now, but anyway, whom you're talking with?"

"Mrs. Fukuzawa, sir."

"Okay, what did she told you?"

Muramoto told him some answers he gleaned from Yumi's and Touko's parents.

"I asked if there are any other possible refuges, and Mrs. Fukuzawa said the heiress has a summer home in Nagano, but I think it wouldn't be safe there."

"I see. Keep me updated."

"Yes, sir."

* * *

**Author****'****s ****Notes:** I'm sorry if it took some time before I could finish this, owing it all to personal issues, which right now I'm not at liberty to discuss. Instead, our three girls will have to get used to their new, albeit difficult, situation.

Addendum - it appears that upon importing as a chapter from Word, with formatted content (bold, italics or underscore) tend to lose their spaces. The heck's happening?

Till next time… thanks!


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